


Prince and the Paper

by namesfey



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Prince and the Pauper AU, Tags Are Hard, What am I doing, other newsies are in here too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namesfey/pseuds/namesfey
Summary: In which Jojo wants a different life, and - hey, so does Darcy





	1. Chapter 1

“Jojo! Hey! Jo!” A harsh whisper woke Jojo from his sleep, but he tried to ignore it. This proved to be difficult, as his arm was belligerently prodded over and over (and over and over and over), and the whispers unceasing. “Rise and shine, sleepy-head! The mornin’ bell rung, time to sell some papes!” Jojo at last, reluctantly, opened his eyes to meet mischievously-sparkling eyes peering through the bars of Jojo’s top bunk that could only belong to Racetrack Higgins.

“Remind me why I chose to sleep above you, again?” Jojo mumbled, nonetheless slowly rising and dressing for the day.

“Couldn’t tell ya - hey! Elmer! Get a move on!” Race called to a nearby bunk. Despite Race’s over-enthusiastic voice rising, ringing throughout the bunk-bed-littered room, Elmer just absently waved in response.

The process of preparing for the day ahead was a slow one, a sluggish act that didn’t come without groans from the various newsies - the young laborers that were more heard than seen, a liaison between the reporters and the civilians.

Jojo wasn’t one to complain about this lifestyle. He had a paying job, enough food for survival, and a band of brothers who had each others’ backs.

Jojo wasn’t one to complain about this lifestyle - not out loud, that is. Inside his head, twenty-four-seven, he was constantly complaining about the pain in his feet and the hours he worked and the weather he had to endure, about the bruises that appeared in strange places and the rudeness of customers and the lengths he sometimes had to go to just to make a profit.

Jojo wasn’t one to complain about this lifestyle - not out loud, that is - not when there were little newsies to uplift. Being sixteen, Jojo was considered and older newsie and had to keep tabs on the littles, even be a light for them in a city that tried to be a permanent shadow. So Jojo stuck a smile on his face, an expression he became known for, and kept his comments to himself.

As the newsies of Lower Manhattan filed down the stairs of the Lodging House, Jojo tried his best to dust himself off. He needed to look, at the very least, minimally presentable to the customers. He didn’t get to look at himself in the mirror, or any reflective surface at all for that matter, during the bustle of the morning rise - not that it was to be expected, it just would have been nice to know if any dirt from previous days were left on his face.

The sun wasn’t yet in the sky, nor a cloud to be spotted, but the mob of newsies were making their way to the distribution gates of the World, and Jojo hoped it would be a good selling day. Such a mood passed quickly as he heard a voice calling his name. Jojo turned to find Jack Kelly, the unproclaimed leader of their group of newsies, jogging toward him. Jojo internalized his sigh and plastered his usual grin, saying, “Hiya, Jack.”

“Hey, Jo. Listen - I was thinkin’ you should change ya sellin’ spot. I heard some of the boys sayin’ that Woodside was struggling and -.”

“I’m doin’ fine, Jack, honest. We’re all doin’ fine.”

“Okay, keep me in the know, though.”

“‘Course, I -”

Jojo’s response was cut short by a voice he heard a little ways ahead - Romeo, using his tactics of charming folks before he was even paid to do so. “Well hello, hello, hello beautiful -”

“Woah, step aside, Romeo,” Jack interrupted, stepping in, a charmer himself. “Nothin’ more concerns you here, kid - Mornin’ Miss!” Jack’s focus switched from the newsie to two people, real proper-like: a boy in a yellow suit, yellow hat, shiny shoes, and spectacles, and a girl in a purple dress, purple jacket, striped tie, and curly hair. “May I interest you in the latest news?”

The newsies encircled the three, Jojo himself trying and failing to get a good look at them before giving up and standing next to Henry.

“The paper isn’t out yet,” said the girl as she and the boy tried to make their way past.

But Jack pressed on: “Oh, I would be delighted to deliver it to you, personally.”

From his vantage point, Jojo could just make out the yellow-clad boy trying to intervene, before the girl stopped him and said, “I’ve got a headline for you: ‘Cheeky Boy Gets Nothing For His Troubles.’” A chorus of laughs erupted from the newsies, and the boy and girl, content, continued on their way, though not before Jojo caught a glance at them. There was something familiar about the boy, but by the time Jojo thought better of it, they were gone.

“Jo!” called Henry, pulling Jojo out of his stupor. “Let’s go!”

The newsies proceeded down the maze of cobble-clad roads to the circulation gates, chattering up a storm, so loud it was a wonder the entire city didn’t wake from the noise.

“I hate the summertime,” Henry piped up, speaking to no one in particular. “You always stink real fast. Hey, but it’s not so bad when we all gotta suffer together, huh?” Jojo just nodded, hands in his pockets. In truth, Jojo hated summer - all sweaty, and hot, and no one wants to be outside walking around, and if people are walking around they don’t want to stop for the sake of buying a newspaper from a grimy child. But Jojo couldn’t say that out loud.

“Boys, it’s the Sisters!” called a voice from the front of the group. All at once the newsies rushed towards the three nuns, free grub the only thing on their minds. The boys crowded the three nuns, hands outstretched, but patiently waiting for their individual piece of bread and cup of tinny water.

“Thanks for the grub, Sisters!” shouted Elmer.

“Elmer,” said one of the nuns, rather disapprovingly, “when are we going to see you inside the church?”

“I don’t know, Sista’ but it’s bound to rain sooner or later!” The nuns left as soon as their cups were returned.

The newsies were nearly halfway to the gates by now, the sun just peeking through the tall buildings. Jojo could barely make out Race talking about the condition of the food they were given by the nuns, as if he had the right to judge what they were given. Had Race always been one to complain? Were they all constantly complaining, or was Jojo becoming more aware? Soon the complaints were the only things Jojo could hear, the sounds building up around him.

“Curdled…”

“Just give me half a cup -”

“...coffee…”

“Somethin’ to wake me up -”

“...concrete donuts…”

“I gotta find an angle -”

“...sprinkled with mold…”

“It’s gettin’ bad out there -”

“...homemade…”

“Papes is all I got -”

“It’s eighty-eight degrees -”

“...biscuits…”

Jojo sighed, outwardly this time, and added: “Jack says to change my spot.”

“Wish I could catch a breeze -”

“...just two…”

“Maybe it’s worth a shot -”

“All I can catch is fleas -”

“...years old.”

“Cheer up, fellas,” said Jack, responding to the boys’ grumbling, trying to be the optimist. “At least we got a job, ya know?”

“Yeah,” said Race, “but Weasel ain’t helpin’ us much.”

“Well maybe there’ll be something big in the papers today,” said Crutchie, popping up next to Race. “Like a tornado or another war or -”

“A crooked politician?” Elmer added.

“Old news!” was the response by several of the boys.

By this point the newsies were saddling up to the gates, some poking their heads through the bars to get a better look at the headlines of the day.

“They’re puttin’ it up now!” said Finch, answering the question everyone was asking but no one said.

“Please be bloody,” Specs murmured to himself, though loud enough for the rest to hear. “Please be bloody, _please_ be bloody.”

“What’s it say, Finch?” Jojo asked, near the back of the group and growing steadily impatient.

He was only answered with groans, and Finch saying, “Trolley strike.”

“Again?” asked Albert.

“Back it up, step aside!” warned a voice from beyond the gate - one of the two Delancey brothers.

“Pshaw,” said Crutchie, “the only thing backed up is the sewers.”

“That’s a fancy way of describing their home, Crutch,” commented Race, causing a wave of snickers to pass over the newsies who heard it.

“Hey Oscar,” said Finch, addressing one of the Delanceys once the gate was unlocked, and changing the subject completely, “was it true that you an’ Morris beat up some of them trolley strikers?”

“Who told you that?” asked Oscar, opening the gate wide.

Finch shrugged. “Dunno, it’s the word on the street.”

“Well you can tell the street that it’s honest work.”

“Cracking the head of defenseless workers is honest work?” Albert asked.

“Ain’t you’s father one of them strikers, Morris?” Race added.

“Ain’t you’s supposed to mind your own business and sell papes so you can sleep at night?” Morris responded. “Or do you want you’s heads cracked, too?”

The newsies shut up then, shuffling along to avoid confrontation, lining up for their papers. As they were getting in line, however, Race noticed Jojo’s steadily drooping face.

“You alright there, Jo?”

Jojo looked at him, startled that someone caught him slipping and off-guard. But Jojo quickly recovered, throwing Race a winning smile, as if nothing was wrong, because nothing was. “Course I’m alright. We’re all alright. It’s a fine life, after all.”


	2. Chapter 2

Darcy loved traveling.

That is, Darcy loved traveling in the sense that books allowed you to.

You see, Darcy Reid was a boy who a passerby would consider wealthy - and that consideration would hold true. Since Darcy could remember he had been surrounded by lavish parties and private tutors and sumptuous clothing, by a younger sister taught to be a lady and an older brother taught to be a businessman.

But no matter how wealthy Darcy may be, he had yet to venture outside New York. Darcy had touched every inch of every borough the city had to offer, and never had been offered more. Darcy, of course, was not one to complain. He simply had to take a look outside of his bedroom window to know how fortunate he was.

So maybe Darcy hadn’t touched every inch of New York. He had yet to interact with the lower classes, though he didn’t know how often a chance like that would come about. Whether by pure class distinction or by coincidence, Darcy had never directly encountered someone that didn’t live in a mansion, and he thought that he probably wouldn’t ever in his life.

That was, until one morning in which he was escorting Katherine Plumber (or Katherine Pulitzer if her father was around) to inform a colleague of Mr. Joseph Pulitzer, located in the Bronx, about the current happenings of his newspaper business.

Katherine was a dear friend, an old friend, but nothing more, contrary to both of their parents’ wishes. He and Katherine had been in early schooling together until Darcy took from a tutor, but had kept in touch. That early schooling was also where he met William Hearst Jr., who Darcy had come to know as Bill, and who would be walking along with Darcy and Katherine had he not been home, sick with a cold.

But nevertheless, somehow, two children of two of the most influential men in New York became surrounded by a pack of dirty newsboys.

 _It’s too early for this nonsense_ , Darcy thought to himself as a boy, not much younger than Darcy, tried to woo Katherine with plastered charm.

“Step aside, Romeo,” said another boy, slightly older than Darcy, and holding twice the confidence and allure. “May I interest you in the latest news?”

 _I’d rather be home learning about the workings of a sewing machine than listen to this boy talk._ Darcy had finally encountered the inch of New York he had never touched, and he found he regretted touching it. He was sure the newsboys found themselves interesting, but their humor could only take Darcy so far.

“The newspaper isn’t out yet,” answered Katherine, and Darcy wished she would stop talking.

“Oh, I would be delighted to deliver it to you, personally.”

That was enough for Darcy, who tried to make his way past the older boy, dragging Katherine along with him, but Katherine stopped him and said, “I’ve got a headline for you: ‘Cheeky Boy Gets Nothing For His Troubles.’” A chorus of laughs erupted from the newsboys - apparently they found anything funny, even the humiliation of one of their own. Amidst their laughing, Darcy and Katherine, finally content, continued on their way.

*****

The colleague of Mr. Pulitzer - someone named Mr. Burns - was as boring as an algebra lesson from Darcy’s tutor. Needless to say, Darcy and Katherine made an excuse to leave as soon as they relayed their message, which was quite easy for them to do given how often they are sent to give and receive messages.

That was what Darcy had been whittled down to - a messenger boy, not entirely different than the hawkers on the streets. His father was focussed on his older brother Ogden, preparing him for succession of The Tribune. His mother was focussed on his younger sister Jean, preparing her for courtship and the life of a lady.

That left Darcy to be a background character. Ogden soon assumed the bossy nature of, well, a boss, and, given the frequent absence of both his mother and father, Darcy and Jean had no other choice but to comply with whatever Ogden had told them. If Ogden told him to stay in the house and study, Darcy did. If Ogden told him to escort Katherine to the Bronx to relay a message to Mr. Burns, Darcy did. Darcy figured one of these days Ogden would crack and mold Darcy into a servant without Darcy fully recognizing it - that is, if Ogden hadn’t done so already. But until Darcy had full evidence that Ogden was fully insane, he was stuck with the messenger job, the escort job, the studious job, and whatever job Ogden would come up with next.

It was a rather monotonous life - wake up, eat, do what Ogden says, come home, eat, sleep, wake up and do it all again. Maybe read a few pages of a novel when time is free. In a novel Darcy wasn’t restricted by the realities of his life. In a novel he could travel outside of New York - to deserts and rainforests and the sea and the sky. Sure his own life was a fine one, but Darcy couldn’t help but think something bigger was out there waiting for him.

*****

It was about 9 o’clock when Darcy had returned Katherine to her home. It was 9:30 when the Pavonia Ferry took off from the docks in Manhattan and made its way to the docks in Queens. Darcy hoped something interesting would occur.


	3. Chapter 3

“Thoughts on the new kid Davey?” This was Buttons from his current position - laying on his back on the floor of the Pavonia Ferry.

“I think he’s got his work cut of for him.” This was Mush, standing between Jojo and Kid Blink at the railing.

“Kinda reminds me of those folks we saw earlier. Ya know, Prim and Proper.” This was Blink.

“Yeah, but he can’t be all that bad. He an’ his kid brother are with Jack, remember? Cowboy’ll at least soften their edges. Thoughts, Jojo?” This was Mush, turning to Jojo, who was looking out into the small waves.

“What? Oh, um… yeah.”

Mush nudged him. “What did we talk about, you staring off into the water, huh?”

“I need to snap out of it.”

“Yeah it makes you all -” Mush waved his fingers at him, “lost-lookin’.”

Jojo just grinned at him. “I’m fine, Mush, honest.” But, really, he wasn’t fine, Mush, honest. Jojo’s days were becoming more monotonous as they went on, in a way that he wished he was old enough to not sell newspapers, though he wasn’t ungrateful in the least. He only wanted to experience something bigger than standing on street corners and shouting until his throat was raw. But Jojo couldn’t say that out loud.

Instead Jojo looked behind Mush to see the docks nearing closer and closer. “Buttons, you’re up.” Blink helped Buttons onto his feet, rustling Buttons’ hair and clothes to make him appear as grubby as possible.

This is how it was: every day some of the newsies (Manhattan and otherwise) would take their papes and, even though they weren’t from that particular borough, would spread out to all borders of New York. The most notable was Race, who dared to venture into Brooklyn, but others (like Jojo, Buttons, Blink, and Mush) took to less-territorial turfs. Yes, they would get the lesser selling spots, but business was business, and they would take what they could get. For the four newsies on the 6:30 Pavonia Ferry, water travel was necessary to reach their selling spots in Woodside. Because a ferry had to be taken, a fee was to be paid. Because a fee was to be paid, they had to find a way to get out of paying said fee. It had soon been decided, back when the four were first selling together, that Buttons appeared the most innocent and therefore the most easy to convince the captain of the ferry to let the fee slide.

At the current moment, while the other three newsies were sneaking behind the captain’s back and off the boat, Buttons was blubbering and wiping his eyes: “I-I’m sorry sir I s-s-swear my money was in my po-pocket when I got on I j-just d-d-don’t know where it we-ent. P-please s-sir, I need to g-go sell,” and on and on until the captain relented and sent Buttons scurrying off the ferry where he rejoined them at the mainland end of the docks, dry-eyed like nothing happened.

“Gets him every time.”

*****

As the boys drew closer to the heart of Woodside, the morning sun now fully shining, Blink called out “Heya, Tick!” and the boys stopped to let Tick emerge.

Jojo was always baffled at how Blink could find Tick, a scrawny twig of a kid that tended to lurk in the shadows. Jojo reckoned Blink got special powers in exchange for one of his eyes going blind. It was probably God or whoever’s way of evening the universe out.

“Hi Blink,” Tick whispered in response. Everything about Tick was quiet, down to his silent footsteps and red hair seeming to move by a soundless wind. “You talk to Tock yet?”

Tock was Tick’s twin, and the other leader of Woodside. The two were part of the group of newsies who were in charge of overseeing Queens. And if Tick was as quiet as a mouse, Tock was a hurricane. Tock’s entire being came with a noise to go along with it. The poor kid couldn’t even walk without tripping over his own feet and crashing into a pile of crates.

“No, not yet,” said Blink. “You seen him?”

“Last I saw, he was at the chestnut tree.”

“So can we sell today?”

“...Yeah you’re fine.”

The four Manhattan newsies gave out a collective breath and said their byes to Tick, continuing on their way.

*****

“Extra! Extra! Three-headed baby born in Brooklyn!”

The outer market of Woodside was busy today, which was a problem for neither the sellers in the stands or the sellers on the streets. Jojo could feel his satchel weighing less and his pocket of coins weighing more as the day progressed. As Jojo had hoped, today was a good selling day. Still, something from this morning was still nagging at him.

When a break in the stream of people came about, Jojo called across the road, “Buttons!” and waved the boy over.

“What’s new, Jo?”

“You know Prim and Proper from earlier?”

“Oh, sure, yeah.”

“Did you get a good look at Proper?”

“Yeah - wait, which one was that?”

“The yellow one.”

“I guess so.”

“Did he look like anyone to you?”

“Not that I can think of. Why?”

They paused while a man bought a paper from Jojo.

“He looked kinda familiar, but I don’t know why. I ain’t never seen him before.”

“Well, sorry I couldn’t help you more.”

“Nah, you’re good, Buttons. Get back to your spot.”

It was as soon as Buttons settled back into his spot that Jojo saw a flash of yellow in the corner of his eye. He began walking in the direction of said flash, such in a way that Jojo was halfway down the street, maneuvering between the people and the stalls and street-sellers, before he fully knew what he was doing. But Jojo found he couldn’t stop his feet if he wanted to - his legs had taken over in favor of curiosity, winding around buyers and sellers and wagons and horses.

The yellow figure was coming into focus now that Jojo was lessening the distance between them, now seeing that it was indeed Proper, yellow suit and all.

Jojo only had one thought: _whatamidoingwhatamidoingwhatamidoing?_ before he held out his hand, grabbing Proper’s arm, pulling him into the nearest alley.  
“Excuse me!” exclaimed Proper, wrenching his arm out of Jojo’s grip and vigorously dusting himself off.

“Sorry, mister,” said Jojo, his voice slightly trembling, his head still repeating, shouting, _whatamidoingwhatamidoingwhatamidoing?_ “I just-”

Jojo’s voice caught in his throat. Proper was now looking at him clearly, and Jojo could finally understand why he looked so familiar. It was a face that he only saw on occasions - in the reflections of windows and rain puddles and, very rarely, the mirror at the Lodging House.

It was his own face staring back at him.


	4. Chapter 4

Up until that point, Darcy's day had been satisfyingly ordinary.

From the docks of Queens, Darcy had walked to Woodside, the sun beaming through the clouds that had popped up since the morning. When he was younger, and his mother more willing, mother and son went weekly to Woodside's market to look at the different flowers that donned the stalls. Now that Darcy was older, and his mother was caught up in her Red Cross business, Darcy still went weekly to observe the flowers.

Such was the occasion of that morning. Darcy was enjoying himself, looking at petals of different colors, coming from different parts of the world that Darcy only knew of from his atlas. Every time he went to Woodside he became a little jealous of the flowers - they get to see the world, and they’re only plants.

Yet Darcy still loved the Woodside market, and was enjoying himself as much as possible. That is, until he was pulled into an alleyway by a mirror of himself.

That is, if Darcy’s mirror was a grubby newsboy.

Darcy, smart as he was, observantly said to the newsboy: "You have my face."

And they did: same shaggy brown hair (though hidden under different hats), same dark brown eyes (though the boy's with dark circles and Darcy's without), and outward from that the what appeared to be the same height, weight, and bone structure. The boy just seemed to care less about his posture, slumping a little as if he was bearing something heavy on his shoulders.

The boy, if anything, looked hurt by Darcy's comment. "No way, kid. If anythin', you's got mine."

Darcy, smart as he was, didn't know how to respond. The boy even _sounded_ like him. So Darcy simply straightened his sleeves, coughed awkwardly, said, "Well, it was nice meeting you," and turned to exit the alleyway, fully ready to exit Woodside, and perhaps even give up his weekly visits if it meant avoiding the boy.

"Wait." And, for reasons beyond him, Darcy did, facing the boy again. Maybe it was due to a curious little voice in the back of his mind, urging Darcy to _listen, listen_. The boy had a mischievous look to him, one that reminded Darcy of what his father said about newsboys, that they were always looking to trick a buyer. "Have you ever wanted ta' do somethin' bigger than ya'self?"

Darcy’s own voice reverberated about his mind, echoing a _something bigger than yourself_ over and over and over. Darcy let out an exhale of irritation, muttering a "I can't believe this," mostly to himself, but loud enough that the boy could hear.

"Wait - please - it's just... I've been growin' tired of sellin' papes every day. I been dyin' for a change and here you shows up and... I just feel like it's a sign, ya know?"

Darcy had to repeat what the boy said over and over in his mind just to understand what the boy was saying. "You think selling newspapers is difficult?" he asked, hoping he had a grasp of the situation, hoping that this conversation would be over quickly.

The boy laughed. "You think it's easy?" Darcy shrugged. "Tell ya what - I'll make you a deal." Before Darcy could back out, the boy continued. "You an' me, we look the same, right? So let's switch for a li'l bit. You say it's easy, give it a try. I bet your life is a breeze compared to mine."

"Trust me, it's not."

"Well, how'd I know 'less I tried it myself?"

Darcy could help but see the logic in the boy's reasoning, despite there being an overall lack of logic behind this conversation. "For how long?" _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

"...Three days startin' tomorrow sound good to you?"

Actually, forgetting all this happened sounded good to him, but Darcy couldn’t say that out loud. "How does this benefit me? You get to experience a better life, so to speak. Why should I help you?" _Because you’re life is probably as boring as his is. What happened to that inch you barely touched?_

"For one, you won't sound or look like a loony, walkin' around sayin' someone's posin' as you. Uh, you’ll get to 'sperience what someone more... down-to-earth 'speriences. Good for morale and all that. You get ta' be me, an' I gets ta' be you. Square?"

 _Whatamidoingwhatamidoingwhatamidoing?_ "Okay." The boy smiled from ear to ear, then spit in his hand to shake Darcy's outstretched one, but Darcy put his hand down.

"What's wrong?"

"That's disgusting."

A burst of a laugh. "Get used to it - ah, what's your name?"

"Darcy, Darcy Reid."

"Get used to it, Darcy Reid." Reluctantly, Darcy spit into his own hand and shook with the boy, trying to think of anything except the saliva between their hands and the deal he had just committed to. He probably should have listened when his father tried teaching him about business transactions.

As soon as the boy let go Darcy wiped his hand on his pants. "And what's your name?"

"Jojo."

"Really? That can't be your actual name."

"Well, no, it’s not. But all of the newsies have kinda oddball names, but that's how we's organized. Otherwise we's got fourteen Johns and everyone's confused. And, plus, some of us have come from places we don’t want to go back to, and our old names sorta tie us to that. New names, new life, that sort of thing."

Darcy sighed. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Oh, sure. Um, lemme think of this in order. So, you wake up and walk with the other boys to the gates to get your papes - fifty cents per hundred papes. I usually get fifty so that’ll cost twenty-five cents. I don’t know how well you would sell, but it’s probably on the lower side. So then you go with Mush and Blink and Buttons to the ferry and ride to Woodside, and Buttons -"

"Wait wait wait," Darcy interrupted, "you don't live here?"

"Pshaw, do I look like a Woodside newsie?" Darcy didn't have an answer to that. Jojo continued. "So Buttons fakes bein’ more poor than he is and we's get off the ferry and sells in the market. Oh, and don't speak to Tick, but you can speak to Tock. Otherwise keep to the 'Hattan newsies. So -"

"You go from Manhattan to Woodside every day?"

"That's what I'se said, stop interruptin' me. So you sell until Mush or Blink says it's time to leave or you run outta papes and hang with Buttons - he’ll be across the way - and then you go back home and do it again the next day. Easy. Got it?" Darcy thought he did, though as he was nodding too much information left his brain. "Alright, now gimme ya clothes."

If Darcy had water in his mouth, it would have spewed out. "I beg your pardon?"

"And you gotta stop talkin' all proper-like, it’s a dead give-away. But we's gotta switch clothes. You really want to sell in that? You really want me to walk into your home in this?" Jojo gestured to himself. No, Darcy didn’t want those ratty clothes to touch anywhere relatively clean, including his own body. But Darcy had his part to play, and Jojo had his, so they swapped.

Jojo's clothes were dirty and worn, like they'd hardly ever been washed. Darcy felt like a rash was forming on his skin from the filthy material, but he was just glad they fit, if not leaning towards being too small. Looking back at Jojo, Darcy thought Jojo looked like a reflection come to life - a flash of yellow against the bleakness of everything else.

_Why the yellow suit? Why did I wear that? It looks so odd now - did I look that odd wearing it?_

Darcy looked at himself and back at Jojo, deciding that the only thing blatantly different was that Jojo himself was dirty, despite his - despite Darcy's - clothes being clean. Darcy assumed he himself looked clean despite his - despite Jojo's - clothes being dirty.

Jojo looked to the sky, the sun nearly directly overhead. "It's gettin' pretty late.”

Darcy looked up as well, confused. “I’d say it’s near eleven, if that.”

“Like I’se said: it’s gettin’ pretty late. We better get goin'. Or rather, you better. Here’s my coins,” Jojo held a amalgamation of change in his hand. “Protect this like you’s life depends on it. You can’t do nothin’ without money in your pocket, and this is pretty much it. The rest is in a tin at the end of my bunk.”

Darcy held out his hands as Jojo, obviously reluctantly, placed his money in Darcy’s hands.

“Darcy?”

“Hm?” Darcy replied, putting the last coins in his pocket.

“Look at me.” Darcy did, and he was struck by the seriousness in Jojo’s eyes. “Don’t go spendin’ it on meaningless garbage. It ain’t like fancy people money - it don’t grow on trees.”

Darcy tried his best not to take the last part to heart, instead changing the subject. “So, where _do_ you live?”

“Lower Manhattan with a bunch of the other boys. I think the more important question here is: where do _you_ live?"

"East 84th Street, Manhattan as well. You quite literally can't miss it."

"That's right by Central Park, ain't it?"

"Yes."

“Anythin’ else I need to know?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. Two important people - actually, two sets of two important people. Well, three sets if you want to get specific, but I don’t know if you will actually encounter -”

“Darcy - just tell me.”

“Okay, so, my brother Ogden - he’s a year older - he likes to pretend he’s the boss. Just go along with it, because you can’t actually do anything otherwise. My little sister’s name is Jean - she’s a year younger - she pretty much minds herself, but she will intervene if a fight breaks out. _Please_ don’t fight with Ogden. So those are the first two.

“The next two are Katherine and Bill. Those are my friends. Katherine you’ll probably have to escort everywhere because Ogden will tell you to and our families are trying to set us up. Listen very closely - we’re just friends, don’t try to charm her. Bill will tag along if he gets over the cold he currently has - and I’d consider him my best friend, so don’t do or say anything that will compromise that. And speaking of, lose that accent you’ve got.”

“What accent?”

Darcy faltered. Whatever Jojo did, he sounded _exactly_ like Darcy. “Uh, um, yeah, keep that up. And, um, the last two are my parents, but they’ll be gone, like usual.”

A pause.

"Thank you, Darcy, for doin' this," Jojo said. Darcy nodded, trying not to dwell too deeply on what he committed to, and instead stepped out of the alley and started walking to the left.

"Darcy!" Darcy turned around. It was Jojo again, a small smile on his face.

"What?"

"The boys are the other way!"

Not one minute in another's life and Darcy was already having trouble - he figured these would be the longest three days of his life.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Darcy realized as he and Jojo went their separate ways was that he had no idea how to be a newsboy. It was like running into a brick wall - Jojo had given him meticulous details, but failed to spell out the basics. So when another newsboy approached Darcy as he walked through the midst of the marketplace, he didn't know what to say, how to look, even what to do with his hands. It also didn't help that he didn't respond when the boy called out "Jojo!" Darcy Reid, smart as he was, just kept walking. Only when the boy stepped right into Darcy's way did Darcy remember who he himself was supposed to be - not Darcy Reid, but Jojo Whatever-his-last-name-was.

Not knowing how to start a conversation with the boy, Darcy resorted to simply saying "Sorry."

The boy laughed, high-pitched and carefree. "For what?" Darcy didn't have an answer. "The other boys is ready to go. Oh, good, you sold all ya papes. Let's go." Darcy reminded himself to thank Jojo for selling all his papers, sparing himself the humiliation of trying to sell - which he would have to do the next day.

"Oh, God."

"What?" said the boy.

_I don't know how to sell newspapers_. "Oh...I'm just tired." The boy's face flashed confusion for a second, but was gone the next.

"Buttons! Jo! Hurry up or we's gonna miss the ferry!" a voice called from up ahead.

The boy Buttons gave no other warning than "Race ya!" before sprinting toward two newsboys waiting by a dock, leaving Darcy to do nothing but follow.

*****

The second thing Darcy realized was that he could speak English too well. It was like sipping hot soup - you can't help but do it, even if it's the wrong thing to do at the time. It wouldn't have been half as bad if Darcy could understand what any of the three boys were saying. But the pause between Darcy translating it to something comprehensible and responding was too long, and Darcy's speech too articulate no matter how much he tried to soften the edges.

"How was sellin' today?" one of the boys, who wasn't Buttons, asked Darcy.

_What would Jojo say?_ "It was good." The boys just looked at him blankly. _Okay, so Jojo wouldn't say that_.

"...You okay, Jo?" asked the other boy who wasn't Buttons.

"Yeah, I'm spiff- fine. I'm fine." The other three eyed him warily, but changed to another topic.

*****

The third thing Darcy realized was that he was probably going to lose his bet with Jojo. It was like waking up in the morning - slowly but eventually accepting reality. Being a newsboy was hard and complicated, and Darcy hadn't even sold anything yet. The only paper on his mind as of late was the ever-growing list of what Darcy would have to thank Jojo for - being on the quieter side was one of them, though their meeting in the alley convinced him of the contrary. The quietness, at least, was what Darcy presumed, as Buttons and the two Not-Buttons didn't directly engage him in a conversation for the duration of the ferry, only asking once in a while for an opinion that Darcy hoped he answered correctly.

"Okay, we's almost there. Buttons, you know what to do." Darcy, however, didn't know what Buttons had to do. He just stood there dumb, looking on as the other boys somehow made Buttons look more desolate.

"Jo, what are you still doing here?" Buttons asked when his transformation was complete. "Get a move on!" Darcy hoped 'get a move on' meant join the Not-Buttonses while Buttons did whatever he was going to do, which Darcy soon realized was deceive the ferry captain, thus skimping out on payment. Darcy couldn't help but stare at the audacity of the newsboy lying through his teeth. He was absolutely unable to tear his eyes away even as he felt the other boys moving.

"Jojo, let's go!" a Not-Buttons hissed, resorting to grabbing Darcy by the wrist and hauling him off the ferry. When they were out of eyeshot of the ferry the same boy whirled on Darcy. "What is wrong with you? You absolute dalcop, you could of gotten us caught! Then we's would of have to explain to the cap why we's didn't pay, and then we'd be in the Refuge! I thought you were aware of that, you stupid ass!"

Darcy, shocked at the sudden confrontation, barely managed a whispered "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" the Not-Buttons continued. "Sorry don' mean nothin' when you's in jail, Jojo!"

"Calm down, Mush," the Not-Buttons-Not-Mush said.

"I'll calm down when this cumberground gets his head on right and the bulls ain't on my tail."

Buttons appeared, worried, his expression showing that he overheard the conversation. “Cheese it, boys, let’s go.”

*****

The fourth thing Darcy realized was that he understood why Manhattan newsboys didn't all sell in Manhattan. The boys could have been rabbit offspring, and Darcy would've believed it - there were so many boys. The Lodging House of Manhattan was so full of Not-Buttons-Not-Mushes that Darcy started feeling claustrophobic as soon as he stepped in the door. It was truly chaos manifested. Darcy would have gone off to the beds for some silence if he knew where they were located, regardless to whether or not that would be a Jojo-like thing to do.

"Hey-o Jo!" Darcy didn't have time to find who called - his? - name before a warm roll was thrown at him, which Darcy thankfully caught.

"Where's mine, Ike?" Mush called, now in better spirits, now in a more comfortable environment.

"Still at Jacobi's!" Ike responded, but somehow a roll ended up in Mush's hands.

Until the sun was well behind the skyline and the stars lit up the night instead, the boys chatted among themselves. Darcy stuck to the three other Woodside sellers, not wanting to get lost in the sea of newsboys. However, said boys quickly became more than just Not-Buttons-Not-Mush. A boy named Jack asked Darcy about selling spots, and Darcy responded so vaguely that by the end neither Darcy nor Jack knew what Darcy's actual answer was. A boy named Finch stole his hat, but it made its way back to Darcy’s head thanks to a red-headed boy named Albert. At the end of the night Darcy was sitting against the wall between the third Woodside seller named Kid Blink (or just Blink) and a boy aptly named Crutchie, while a boy named Racetrack (or just Race) did magic tricks with playing cards for the younger boys.

Eventually an unknown, elderly voice declared lights out, and the shuffle of boys flowed upstairs. The mass stretched and condensed and broke apart as the boys got ready for sleep.

"Jo, what are you doin' standin' there?" Race said, sitting on the bottom bed of a bunk. "You gonna get in bed?"

_But where is my bed?_ Race was still looking at him. _Do they have enough room for each boy to get their own bed or do they share?_ Race's brows were bunching together. Taking a shot in the dark, Darcy kicked off his shoes and laid down on the bed Race was sitting on.

"As much as I wouldn't mind," Race said, trying not to laugh, "your place is a bit higher."

Darcy felt his face grow warm, climbing into the bunk above Race - Darcy spotted the tin Jojo had talked about, and Darcy put his remaining coins in there - and his face remained just as warm even after the lights were finally out. Darcy hoped Jojo was doing a better job than he was at pretending to be someone he clearly was not.


	6. Chapter 6

"Darcy Alexander Reid, where have you been?"

Jojo couldn't honestly answer the question the well-dressed girl standing in the doorway. He couldn't tell her that after he and Darcy had parted, he dallied in the market until the tents were taken down. He couldn’t tell her that once he boarded the Pavonia Ferry back to Manhattan he strolled around Central Park, admiring the freeing feeling of this new persona. He couldn’t tell her that after an hour of strolling he remembered he needed to find Darcy's house, a house that he apparently 'quite literally couldn't miss'. He couldn't tell her that he spent another hour roaming up and down East 84th before realizing that the building he thought was a bank was actually Darcy's home. He most importantly couldn't tell her that he was not, in fact, Darcy Reid.

"I... took the scenic route?"

The girl gave a frustrated sigh. "Just come inside."

The inside of Darcy’s home took Jojo's breath away. The ceiling could have been the sky, for all Jojo knew, with a staircase spiraling upwards with it and a chandelier descending from it; the entryway was so spacious that all of the newsies could sleep comfortably in it; the air was comfortably warm and scented with something savory. Everywhere Jojo looked was clean and in its right place. The afternoon sun gleamed through the windows that were sporadically but justly placed, giving whatever it touched a honey glow. Jojo couldn't stop looking at absolutely everything.

"Jean, is that Darcy?" A voice from above demanded the attention of the ones in the room. It belonged to a boy not much older than Jojo, but suited to look like someone well into his adult years. The girl, Jean, didn't answer, but waited for the boy to meet them on the ground level. "Darcy, you look absolutely filthy," the boy continued, eyes boring into Jojo's like he already disapproved. "Go wash up and meet us in the dining room. We've been waiting for you to return so we could eat. Jean wanted to eat without you -"

"That's not true!"

"-but I told her to wait.”

So these were Jean and, undoubtedly, Ogden - Darcy’s siblings. Jojo took a look at the two while they were bickering among themselves. Jean was short but elegant, her complex dress (at least to Jojo it looked complex) was fitting, and her deep brown hair was curled just so.

Ogden, on the other hand, if Jojo was being completely honest, looked like a rat. Or a snake. Maybe a mix of the two. There was a chance that Ogden just wasn’t good at first impressions, but the more Ogden spoke the less Jojo thought that was plausible. He was slender and tall, and his nose was turned upward while his eyes looked downward. Darcy’s voice came back to him: _She will intervene if a fight breaks out._ Please _don’t fight with Ogden_. Jojo wasn’t one to evoke confrontation, he tended to bottle up his thoughts and intentions, but something about Ogden just made Jojo want to punch him in his rat-snake face.

“Where did you say you were again?"

Jojo blinked for a second, unaware that the conversation had returned to him. He cleared his throat, standing a little taller, trying to act like proper folk would, and did his best to formulate a sufficient reply. "Woodside. But then I’se was in Central Park walkin’ ‘round, and then decided I would take my time gettin' back."

"...What?" Ogden asked.

Jojo mentally kicked himself - the proper folk would talk like proper folk as well. "I...was...in Woodside, and then I was in Central Park walking around, and then I decided to...take my time getting back. Yeah, that's why I'se - I - was late."

The boy squinted his eyes at Jojo, as if trying to find a clue to why 'Darcy' was acting strange, but all he said was, "Just go clean yourself off. We will be eating soon."

*****

Jojo had a difficult time finding a washroom - there were so many doors to choose from and so many floors. Okay, so there were only two floors, but there were dozens of rooms.

Eventually Jojo spotted a houseworker of some-sort and reluctantly told a lie about how he was a little dazed and needed help finding a washroom. The houseworker didn't question him, didn’t say much at all, but lead him to a door that the worker announced was his. Jojo thanked the man repetitively and opened the door.

"You's gotta be joking." The washroom was enormous. Jojo had only seen a couple of rooms in the house (mansion more like) either on purpose or mistake, and the size of each room was starting to annoy him. At one end there was a porcelain tub as long as Jojo was tall, clean like the rest of the house. Across from the tub was a mechanism that Jojo could only assume was a shower - he hadn’t seen many in his day, but the spout from high up on the wall was a clear-enough indication. A sink and mirror was closest to the doorway on the left, as well as a rack that held multiple towels and bars of soap. To Jojo’s right was yet _another_ door that, when Jojo opened it, held the toilet and yet another sink and mirror.

Jojo walked back to the sink in the general room, and was startled by the image he saw in the spotless mirror: a gritty boy playing dress-up in a yellow suit and hat.

_Who am I kidding?_ thought Jojo. _Well, I guess the Reids and everybody else who saw me today_.

Jojo grabbed a bar of soap and started scrubbing at his hands.

*****

"Darcy, where are your glasses?"

Jojo looked up from his untouched plate of chicken and mashed potatoes - warmer than he ever had, more than he ever had - to Jean.

"My… my glasses?" Jojo's eyes darted between Jean and Ogden, trying to formulate a believable answer. "Well - um - I, uh, I... dropped them in the water when I was lookin' over the railing on the ferry on my way back from Woodside."

"You dropped them in the water?" Ogden asked, dubious.

"They fell in," Jojo answered, before going back to moving the contents of his plate around to avoid any continuation of a conversation. Did Darcy have his glasses? Were they lost in the shuffle of clothing? Where were the glasses?

"Um, Darcy?” Jean said. “Mother also said to remind you that you and Bill are taking Katherine to the art museum tomorrow, and that she's going to be late because of her Secretary duties."

"Who’s the one being late?"

"...Mother."

“Oh, alright. Sounds good.” In truth, Jojo was hoping he wouldn’t have to do anything tomorrow except laze around the house. But, _noooo_ , Jojo didn’t get one day off to just rest and regain years of stolen hours of sleep.

"Darcy are you well?" It was Ogden, voice rising in pitch as though he was irritated and concerned at the same time, his voice pulling Jojo out of another one of his stupors. “You look a little lost. And you remember what Father says about daydreaming: don’t. Focus is key for peak productivity, and without productivity and efficiency you might as well be living on the streets because bankruptcy is the worst possible position to be in -”

“I’m swell, Oggy, but while you’re at it, why don’t you recite Father’s whole biography and philio-osophy on ethics, huh?”

"First, my name is Ogden, and you know that."

“My bad.”

“Second, I believe what you were trying to say is _philosophy_. Slacking in your phonetics, are we? And third, Darcy, you haven’t touched your food at all tonight.”  
Jojo turned to Jean. “Is he really changing the subject, just like that?” Jean just shrugged like it was a normal occurrence. “Okay, then, Oggy, since you wanna be all scrambled in your thoughts, I’ll play along.”

“I’m not scra -”

“Was I finished?” He looked at Jean. She didn’t answer, her eyes wide. “No?” He looked at Ogden. He didn’t answer either - shocked that Jojo dared to interrupt him in such a way.

“Then let me answer your question. I’m just not hungry. And, actually,” Jojo stuffed a forkful of potatoes in his mouth, trying not to show that _Oh my God, this was the best thing Jojo had ever eaten in his entire life_ , but instead making a big deal out of swallowing it, “I did touch my food. Happy now?”

“Where’s this attitude coming from, young man?”

That was a reasonable question that Jojo couldn’t honestly answer. Perhaps it was because there wasn’t anyone he needed to save face for. Perhaps it was because he felt like he was constantly watched over his shoulder. Perhaps it was because Ogden was just that irritating, and there was no one there to hold Jojo back.

“What do you mean, ‘young man’? Oggy-boy I’m only a year younger than you and you ain’t even eighteen yet. Take a look at yourself - you’s a young man in adult clothing, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, maybe a snake in an owl’s if you catch my drift.”

Ogden slammed his hands on the table, the metal clanging. “You have no right to say that!”

Jojo slammed his hands on the table too, mocking him. “Neither do you!”

“I have had more right than you since the day you were born, and since the day Father chose me to follow in his footsteps and left you to play with a printing press for lack of knowing what to do to you. I don’t blame him, either.”

"Boys!” interjected Jean. “Calm down."

"I'll calm down when Darcy calms down."

"I’m perfectly calm, _Hogden_. You're the one sounding like a Delancey."

"See, Jean?"

“So now you’s roping her into this, too?

"Darcy! Ogden! Shut your mouths!" The boys turned to Jean, now standing and red-faced. "How is it that I’m only fifteen but I seem to be the only mature one among us? You both need to be quiet and think about the words you said, and what you could have said instead. I don’t want to hear another word from either of you unless it’s an apology. Just, please, stop yelling."

So Jojo did stop yelling. In fact, he quietly rose from his chair and quietly picked up each dish he used, quietly heading to the kitchen.

"And where do you think you are you going?" Ogden asked, seething.

"Away from here,” Jojo answered, pure hatred and honesty flowing from his mouth. “I can’t stand to look at you."

*****

Jojo found the kitchen and helped the maids wash the platters and the like used for that night’s meal. The women didn’t say anything about Jojo’s presence in the room, but their faces showed surprise, like they never would have thought he would step foot in there.

When the dishes were finished he thanked them and exited the kitchen in favor of finding his washroom again.

*****

Jojo meant to wash his entire body before settling in for the night, but he found himself too exhausted (mentally? physically? he didn't know) to even make it to the tub. He instead sat against the door, head resting on his knees, hands flat against the cold tile floor, listening.

The house was too quiet. Sure there were houseworkers milling about, but not enough to make the house feel like the comfortable clustering and ruckus of the newsies back in the Lodging House. Here no one joked, no one laughed, no one took on others' struggles. Here everyone fended for themselves, behaved seriously, took everything personally.

Not only that, but the more time Jojo spent in the building the more he felt selfish for it. He didn’t ignore the mountain of food at the table meant for only three people, or the way the silverware shined against the light of the candles hanging from above, or the perfectness of the clothes Ogden and Jean wore.

A knock came from the other side of the door.

"Darcy? It’s Jean."

"Hm."

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." Jojo said, scooting to the foot of the sink so Jean cold open the door.

Jean peeked her head in, her green eyes hesitant. "Can I talk to you?" Jojo's answer was a pat on the ground next to him.

Jean's dress billowed around her like a cloud when she sat. Jojo couldn't help but think of all the young girls he knew that would die to have a dress like that.

"Forgive me if this comes off as - I don’t know, too much? - but… are you okay?”

Jojo couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped him. “Asking if I’m okay seems like too much?”

“Well, isn’t it?”

Jojo thought on that. It was true, not many people tended to ask outright if anyone was okay. It seemed like a topic most people danced around, or assumed without checking.

"It's just that,” Jean continued, “you have been talking a little strangely today and you hold yourself a different way and you lost your glasses. The only thing you seem to be doing normally is bothering Ogden, but even that was a little unexpected."

"I don’t know what to tell you,” answered Jojo, because he truly didn’t.

"I think with Father constantly gone all the time on ambassador trips Ogden believes he has to take the place of the man in charge. We've talked about this before: you just need to ignore him."

"Wouldn't that make him more mad?"

"It works for me."

"Yeah, well, you's a girl."

"So?"

Jojo let the answer ring in the air. He didn't have a good answer to that.

"How was Woodside today?” Jean asked, as though that was what they had been discussing the whole time. “See anything interesting?"

"Oh, sure. I met this newsie today. Nice fella - um, fellow."

Jean’s eyes grew wide. "Really? But Father and Mother always said that newsboys are mischievous and grimy."

Jojo did his best not to take full offence - she just knew what her parents had taught her. "How would Father and Mother know, they ain’t newsies. I think they're doing the best they can just to survive."

*****

Ogden found them in the washroom and told them to go to sleep. Jojo refrained from saying anything back, but did stick his tongue out when Ogden left.

*****

The mattress was too soft. The pillows were too soft. The sheets were too soft.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ah, man, them fire sirens kept me awake all night."

Darcy had to wholeheartedly agree with Racetrack's statement. It had taken Darcy ages to become accustomed to the lumpy, raggedy mattress and the lumpy, raggedy pillow, not to mention the environment filled with the other boys, and as soon as he was about to drift off, the wailing of sirens in the distance went off, causing his mind to be alert once more. To put it plainly, Darcy had not had a full night's rest.

"Sirens is like lullabies to me," said Mush, lounging on a stack of newspapers. "The louder they wail," he continued, "the better the headline. The better the headline, the better I eat. And the better I eat -"

"The further away from you I sleep!" interrupted Race, causing Mush to become defensive, the boys to roar with laughter, and Darcy to roll his eyes. Before Mush could do any real damage, though, a boy Darcy hadn't seen before came rushing in pulling a smaller boy in tow.

"Mornin' everybody!" said the older boy. "Sorry we're late, we had to help our mom with something."

"Oh, they've got a mother?" Race chuckled, saying in a sardonic tone, "I was gonna get me one. Hey-o, Les, where’d you buy yours?" The younger boy, Les, actually started to think about it, his older brother glaring daggers at Race.

_Did these boys really not have mothers? How could they have grown up on the streets of New York without an authoritative figure to light the way?_

"What did you do with the one you had?" asked another boy - Romeo, the boy who tried flirting with Katherine the day before.

Buttons spoke up. "He traded her for a box of cigars." From the way Buttons spoke, this apparently wasn't very surprising, or new information.

"Hey, they was Coronas!"

"We have a father too!" chimed in Les.

"A mother and a father!"

"Hey, boys, ain't we the hoi palloi!"

"So how's the headline?" asked Les, either misinterpreting the situation or avoiding the subject.

"Ask me after they put up the headline," Romeo said, just as the distribution bells rung.

The boys crowded around the board where a man was writing the headlines for the day. Darcy waited in the back, anticipating one of the boys would read it out loud. In the shuffle of he and Jojo switching, his glasses had gone missing. Darcy hoped that Jojo had enough mind to wear them. They weren't much, just reading glasses, Darcy would be able to see without them, but it would be odd if "Darcy" was seen without them. Needless to say, Darcy was relieved when Albert spoke up.

"New newsie price... sixty cents per hundred?" Darcy didn't know if that was good or bad. Sixty cents wasn't that much money to them, was it? He patted the change that he brought in his pocket - did he even have sixty cents to start out with? Wait - no - Jojo only sells fifty. Did he even have _thirty_ cents to start out with?

"They jacked up the price of papes! Ten cents more per hundred!"

"I could eat two days on a dime!"

Okay, so maybe to them it was quite a bit of money... which meant to Darcy that was supposed to be quite a bit of money.

"I'll be sleeping on the street," said Crutchie.

"You already sleep on the street." Darcy regretted the words that came out of his mouth as soon as he said them. It was an exaggeration, not the truth. That's what Darcy hoped, at least. When Crutchie responded "In a worse neighborhood," it didn't exactly help Darcy's cause, but Darcy played it off with a "Yeah, you're right," and moved towards the back of the group again, Jack now walking in to survey the scene.

Darcy hoped that Jack wouldn't ask him about selling spots again.

The boys milled around, unsure of what to do until a rather unpleasant voice called, "Papes for the newsies! Line up, boys!" The newsies fell into a single file in an undisclosed order. Darcy, being in the middle, only heard bits and pieces of Jack's conversation with the distributor (some guy named Weasel?). The other boys around Darcy looked equally confused, probably because of the change in price rather than, in Darcy’s case, an all-around lack of knowledge. That is, until Jack declared, "Then me and the fellas will take a hike over to The Journal." The group of boys started to follow suit, until a taller boy with glasses stopped them.

"I'll save you the walk, they upped their price too."

Jack looked around, at a loss for words. "Then... we'll take our business to The Sun!" with the newsies making sounds of agreement and frustration.

"It's the same all around town!" called Weasel. "New day, new price."

"Why the jack up?" Jack shouted back, annoyance clear in his voice.

"You gotta ask someone higher up on the food chain for that answer, boy,” Weasel answered. “So you buyin', or movin' along?" Jack all but spit in Weasel's face, instead deciding to turn around without any hint of physical violence, much to Darcy's pleasure, and calling all the newsies to gather around him by a distribution wagon far enough out of the earshot of Weasel and the two henchmen-type boys helping him, but close enough to sneer at them if necessary.

Instead of waiting to hear what Jack had to say, though, the newsies shouted out different complaints about the company, about the workers, about their lack of rights, about anything that would be plausible in that situation. The boys seemed to complain a lot. Darcy was starting to understand why Jojo would take the first opportunity he could to get a break from this life - apparently it was awful. Even when Jack tried to settle them down with a "Hey, no one's paying no knew nothing!" the boys' voices only escalated, until little Les forcibly pushed the newsies apart (Darcy himself readily stepping back) shouting that Jack needed room to think.

There was a period of silence, one that Darcy was glad for, one that probably wouldn't last long, one that surely wouldn't occur again anytime soon with this lot being who they were.

"Hey Jack," said Les, "you still thinkin'?"

"Sure he is, shortstop, can't you smell smoke?" Race said, accompanied with groans from the newsboys.

"Aw, shut it, boys, come here," beckoned Jack, the boys crowding him once more. "Here’s the deal: if we don't sell papes, nobody sells papes, a'right? Nobody gets to that window till them big boys put the price back where it belongs, yeah?"

"You mean like a strike?" asked Les’ older brother.

"Hey, you heard Davey: we're on strike!" Jack exclaimed, met with once again the clamor of newsboys. Jack rose and stood on top of newspiles, clearly making himself heard. "We’ll shut down this place just like them trolley workers did!"

"And cops'll bust our heads just like they did to them workers!" shouted Finch above the crowd.

"Trolley workers? What about the trolley - oh," said Darcy, suddenly glad his input couldn't be heard amidst the other boys' shouting. They were talking about the trolley strike, a story that had been dragging on for three weeks. When Darcy's father was home, that seemed to be one of the few things he would talk about. When he wasn’t home, that seemed to be one of the things Ogden would talk about. That was all it ever was from those two: trolley workers, England, Paris, and The Tribune.

"Hey, no, the cops ain't gonna care about a bunch a' kids, Finch," said Jack. "Right, Davey?"

"Leave me out of this," the older brother, Davey, said, abruptly grabbing his brother's hand and dragging him away. "I'm just here trying to feed my family."

"And you think we're just playin' 'round?" Jack said, running to stop Davey from walking away. "Davey, just 'cause we only makes pennies don't mean they get the right to rub our noses in it."

_You can't strike, you're not union_ , Darcy thought to himself.

"It doesn't matter, you can't strike. You're not a union," Davey said, halting and facing Jack.

_At least there's someone else with brains here._

"Well what if I says we is?" Jack countered.

"You gotta have a lotta stuff in order to be in a union," Davey answered. "Like... membership."

"Whatta ya call these guys?" Jack gestured to the rest of them.

"And officers."

"I nominate Jack president!" Crutchie said.

"And a statement of purpose."

"What's that?" Race asked.

"A reason for forming the union," Davey said.

"Well, what reason did them trolley workers have?" Jack asked.

"Working hours, I guess," Davey answered, "wages, safety?"

"Who don't need that?" Jack argued. "And - _and_ \- if your father had a union, you an' Les wouldn't need to be sellin' papes now, yeah?"

"...Yeah."

" _Sooo_ ,” Jack said, now standing on top of the newspiles, gathering the newsies together, “we's a union now, hereby formed to watch each other's backs!” The boys hooted and hollered with excitement. “So now what, Davey?"

Davey thought for a moment. "Well, the membership's gotta vote on your decision."

Jack turned to face the boys. "Whatta you say boys? Do we roll over and let Pulitzer pick our pockets, _or do we strike_?"

All the newsies immediately shouted “STRIKE!” That is, except Darcy, who was too busy thinking _Pulitzer? As in Katherine's father?_ to contribute.

"You heard the voice of the membership!” Jack said, smiling. “The newsies of Lower Manhattan are officially on strike!" The exclamation was met with cheers and claps on the back, the sounds of passionate boys up for fighting for equality.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

"So now what?"

"Wouldn't our strike be more effective if someone in charge knew about it?" asked Crutchie.

"Well it would be a pleasure to tell Weasel myself!" shouted Race, so eager to do so that he started walking over to Weasel as he spoke, but was roped back in as someone else asked who would tell Pulitzer.

Davey was the one who answered. "I guess... you do, Jack, _Mr. President_."

"Aye, now, we both will. So, what do we tell 'em?" As Darcy looked around, he could see the boys' eyes locked on Davey and Jack, waiting to be told what to do, hearts and minds fully invested in their cause.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

Davey said something quietly to Jack, who shouted for all the boys to hear: "Pulitzer and Hearst gotta respect the rights of the workin' kids of this city!"

_Hearst_ and _Pulitzer? Is my family next?_

"They can't just change the rules when they feel like it!" shouted Davey this time, energy virtually generating from him.

"Yeah, we do the work," said Jack, "so we get a say!"

"Yeah!" agreed all the boys, even Darcy this time, who had gradually become infected by the boys' exuberance.

"We've got a union!" declared Davey, now standing on a pile of newspapers along with Jack, the rest of the newsboys cheering. Jack himself was so invested, that he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Darcy thought at this point Jack couldn't do so if he tried.

"Pulitzer and Hearst think we's nothin'! Are we nothin'?"

"No!" the newsies answered.

"The need to understand that we are not enslaved to them, that we are free agents!" added Davey.

"Pulitzer and Hearst think they got us! Do they got us?"

"No!"

"We're a union now - The Newsboy Union and we mean business!"

"Even though we ain't official or nothin', we's a union, and The World will know!"

"Heya, Jack, what if other kids come to sell papes?" said Finch.

"We soak 'em!"

"No no no!" said Davey. "We can't beat up other kids! We're in this together!"

"Okay, fine, we’ll do what Davey said. But - boys, can we stop the wagons together, huh? Can we stop the scabs?"

"Yeah!"

"Hearst and Pulitzer are gonna hafta break at some point! There wills are gonna snap right in two!"

And with cheers and hoots and hollers the boys marched right out of the circulation gates into the streets of New York, causing a racket like Darcy had never seen. And while Darcy had no idea where they were going, he grew giddy and full of pride for these boys he just met and their cause they just made.

"Our ranks are gonna grow!"

"And we'll kick their rear!"

"And they won't forget us ever!"

It was only as Jack kept shouting and the boys kept answering that Darcy realized they were at the footsteps of Joseph Pulitzer's office. The newsies, as though they were all sharing one mind, quickly formed a blockade (made of themselves) as Jack, Davey, and Les strode inside with an air of confidence... that was quickly destroyed as they were tossed out. The newsies rushed to pick the three of the ground, everyone now maddened more, Jack in a rage.

"Newsies!” he shouted. “Pulitzer can't own us!"

"No!"

"And he can't whip us!"

"The World will know!"

"The things we do today will be tomorrow's news!"

"That's right, Crutchie!"

The newsies, now a mob with a promise and a purpose, marched away from Pulitzer's office, straight into a deli a few streets away. The boys crowded in, mumbling and grumbling, waiting to hear from their now official leader, Jack, their eyes and souls fueled with a fire for justice.

Darcy found himself fueled by that same fire.


	8. Chapter 8

Jojo woke with the morning bell, which wasn't out of the ordinary. He scrambled up from his “bed” and rushed down the stairs, hoping the boys weren’t too far ahead. The Lodging House was quieter than normal that morning, and brighter too. And cleaner.

Jojo had just opened the door when he heard, "Where are you going?"

Jojo turned, answering, "I gotta go sell -" but the rest of the sentence died in his mouth as his memories of the past day rushed back to him.

He was in the Reid's house, and he was playing as Darcy Reid.

"Sell what?" asked the person, who unfortunately was found to be Ogden.

Jojo didn't have a good answer, so he didn't respond.

Ogden sighed rather dramatically, probably trying to restrain himself from rolling his eyes as well. "Close the door, will you?” Jojo didn't. What with the argument last night, he didn't think he could move without hitting Ogden. Ogden resorted to closing the door himself. "Are those the same clothes from yesterday?" Jojo stared at the immaculate floor.

Ogden sighed again. "Bill will be here in an hour, you are to both meet Katherine and take her to the art museum as Jean said yesterday. Go wash up, and do put on different clothes."

Jojo didn't move until Ogden had left. Jojo hated Ogden, though he wasn't entirely sure why, other than he so easily got on his nerves. Maybe because Ogden acted entitled, even if he was. Maybe because he acted as the master of the house, even though, temporarily, he was. Maybe because he was just the type to be the annoying older brother, even though Jojo knew they weren't related.

"Stupid grimy oily scum-of-the-earth crow-faced proper know-it-all ratbag ass..." Jojo mumbled to himself as he ascended the stairs to his room.

*****

Jojo found a blue suit that looked very like the yellow one from earlier, so he had no trouble figuring out how to put it on - or, not as much trouble. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror he found in Darcy’s closet (a room that he didn’t know could exist when he stepped in). Did he look that different? Sure the attire was different and his face was clean... was that all it took to separate the higher and lower class - a bar of soap and softer cloth?

"Okay, Jo, let's hope you don’t start arguing with this Bill and Katherine like you did with Oggy-boy yesterday," Jojo said to his reflection. After the outburst of last night, Jojo needed to check himself, mind his temper. He didn't recall ever having an outburst around the boys, and he didn’t need to develop that habit now - or ever.

_It’s probably ‘cause you’ve been bottling it up and acting like everything was fine for several years_ , he thought to himself.

_Shut up, Jojo._

*****

Less than an hour later the door to Reid Mansion (as Jojo had come to call it) opened. Jojo was in the dining room, eating a piece of toast and jam. When Jojo had come down initially, he had resorted to sitting on the stairs, waiting for Bill to arrive so he could skee-dad out of the house as soon as possible. Jean had saw him waiting and asked if he had eaten yet, to which Jojo almost laughed at because he had hardly eaten breakfast in his entire life. Instead he answered no, and then repeatedly denied Jean's attempts at getting him to eat until Ogden had sauntered into the entryway, then quickly answering yes.

Because Jojo at that moment was in the dining room rather than the entryway, he didn't see or Bill enter Reid Mansion until Bill walked in.

"Good morning, Darce." Jojo looked up and almost choked on is toast. If Darcy was the cleaner version of Jojo, Bill was the cleaner version of-

"Mush?"

And he was, at first sight. Same blue eyes, same dark-brown hair, even the same air of confidence and assurance, though this one held his with straightened shoulders and a stiff back under a tailored brown suit.

"Pardon?" Mush - no, Bill - said.

"Um, uh, mornin'?"

"Are you ready to go? Don't want to keep Katherine waiting."

"Yeah, sure, of course," Jojo said, holding the rest of his toast in his mouth as he put on his hat and outer coat - actions he thought he would never be doing in a million years - and waved goodbye to Jean, following a slightly-confused Bill out of Reid Mansion.

"By the way, where are your glasses?"

"They fell off. Don't ask."

*****

It turned out that walking all the way from Reid Mansion to Katherine's was pointless. When Bill knocked on the door, a lady informed the two that Katherine was out - in Katherine's words, “following a story” - so she wasn't around, and then closed the door on them.

"So whatta we do now?" Jojo asked.

"I guess we could go to the museum ourselves?" Bill answered. The boys came up with nothing better, so they set off, walking aimlessly to kill time.

After a period of silence Jojo asked, "So is there anything interestin’ at the museum today?”

“Oh, no, not really,” said Bill. “Not since last time we went.”

Jojo wondered how long ago that had been. Instead he asked, “What's Katherine doin' again?"

"Oh, she's probably found some really interesting Vaudeville performer to interview or something of the sort. I hope she's doing well, working for The Sun, and all. With Pulitzer being her father she's got to live up to that name somehow."

Jojo almost screamed out loud. He almost met the daughter of the man he works for?

"WHAT?" 

Okay, so he did scream out loud.

_What did we talk about earlier, Jo? What happened to bottling it up like usual?_

"What, you don't think she should try? I thought you were in full support. I believe it was you, Darce, who said that as children of three of the most influential men of New York, we've got to have each others' backs."

_What have I got into? I'm supposed to be friends with these guys? I'm supposed to_ be _one of these guys?_

"No, no, I'se - I just thought that I hope she did get that interview." Were the buildings growing closer? Was the ground about to swallow him whole? Was Bill’s voice getting quieter?

"You know, maybe she's interviewing some of the newsboys."

Bill’s question drew him out of his panic. "Why - why would she be interviewin' newsies?"

"I thought you heard! All of the newspapers raised the prices of distribution. The newsboys now have to pay sixty cents for one hundred newspapers instead of fifty."

"WHAT?"

"What's with you this morning and screaming?"

_They jacked up the price? Nononononononono that can't be true._

"How do you know it's true?"

"Darce, my father's William Randolph Hearst. He tells me everything. I thought Ogden, at least, would have told you."

"But they can't - they can’t just _do_ that! That’s not _fair_!"

"I agree, it's unfair, but it's not that bad, it's just a few more cents."

_Bottle it up, Jojo, mind your temper, put on a straight face, it's fine, he don't know better._

"What are we doing going to some art museum, Bill? We gotta help these kids! It ain’t fair to them, they got no rights! They’s starving on the streets and we’s playin’ safe in marble castles and platters of food and -”

“Darcy, slow down.”

“I can’t, Bill, I can’t. I wish I could but them boys and girls are getting oppressed and they’re helpless. We’s rich, yeah? We gotta help ‘em somehow.”

*****

"Bill, I don’t care what we do, or how we do it, but we gotta help 'em."


	9. Chapter 9

Darcy was only slightly irritated that he didn't ask the restaurant owner, who he overheard was named Jacobi, for a glass of water. But as the man started circling around handing glasses over to the boys, his mouth becoming for parched every second, he regretted his decision more and more. Next time, he would definitely ask for water.

"And who's the big spender who ordered the seltzer?" called the man sarcastically.

"Over here!" responded Albert who was sitting on top of the table behind Darcy, waving his hand in the air like he owned the place and he didn't just strike against The World. Then again, maybe he was doing it _because_ he just struck against The World.

"That'll be two cents," said Jacobi, walking over to the table.

"What? Two cents for a glass of seltzer?" asked Albert. "Just give me a water."

Jacobi set the the glass down in exchange for a nearly identical one, saying "How did I ever see that coming?" with a tone drenched in sarcasm, and then walked away. The room was silent for a bit as those fortunate to have water gulped it down. Darcy looked around. Though he thought other customers would be in the cafe, at the moment it was only the newsies. If Darcy were his regular self, he would have tipped Jacobi largely for just putting up with all of them.

"Well," said Davey, lifting his now-empty glass, "I think we launched our strike in a most auspicious manner." He was met with confused faces.

"I don't know about that," said Mush, sitting on top of Davey's table, speaking for the rest of the newsies. Although Mush's statement could be interpreted as "I don't think we did it auspiciously", Darcy thought it probably meant "I don't know what auspicious means, so I can't agree with that". Mush turned to the surrounding newsies: "But we sure scared the bejeebers outta Weasel!" The boys cheered at that.

"Yeah, did you see the Delanceys?" said Crutchie. "They didn't know which way was up!" The commotion and excitement rose and rose. Race started talking to Darcy about selling and "papes" but Darcy truly couldn't pay attention or understand to anything with all the tumult. He couldn’t even wrap his head around the fact that they were striking against the top newspaper companies.

"Hey! Hey! Quiet down!" shouted Jack, rising to stand on top of _his_ , commanding attention and receiving it. "So we striked - whatta we do now?"

"Spread the word," answered Davey. "Let the rest of New York’s newsies know about the strike."

"Okay, so we split up!" Jack translated.

_Volunteer so you don’t look out-of-the-ordinary._

"I'll take Harlem!" said Mush.

"I got Midtown!" said Race.

"I got the Bronx!" said Darcy, not fully acknowledging what he was doing until he had said it.

"I've got the Bowery!" said Buttons.

"Specs you take Queens," said Jack. "Tommy Boy, take the East Side. And who wants Brooklyn?"

Darcy was glad he had already picked a neighborhood - the mere utterance of the word caused the boys to be very interested in the their shoes, their hats, and anything that wasn't Jack. Even Darcy knew Brooklyn was not a place you wanted to go to freely, much less on a recruitment mission.

"Oh, come on!" said Jack, playful disappointment apparent in his voice. "Brooklyn. Spot Conlon's turf. Finch!" The boy reluctantly looked at Jack. "You tellin' me you's scared of Brooklyn?"

"Aye I ain't afraid of no turf!" Finch said, standing now, defensive in both word and body. The other boys looked at him in awe. Not scared of Brooklyn? Unheard of. "Spot Conlon, though. He gets me a little... jittery." Now that was something they could believe.

"Aw, sit down," said Jack, "me an' Les an’ Davey'll take Brooklyn."

Davey's eyes widened. "Me? No! I-"

"Why is everyone so scared of Brooklyn?" asked a new, but, to Darcy at least, a familiar voice. It was the one and only Katherine Pulitzer, though her byline would say Plumber. _Of course_ she would have caught wind of the strike. Many of the newsies upon seeing her quickly took off their hats respectively, eyes glued to the stranger inquisitively.

"Whatta you doin' here?" called Jack.

_How does he know her? Oh, that’s right, we ran into them yesterday morning but... maybe they ran into each other again?_ Darcy thought. Was it really only yesterday that this all began?

"I’m asking a question," Katherine said. "Have you got an answer?"

"Brooklyn," said Jack, sauntering down from his position on the table, "is the sixth-largest city in the entire world. You's got Brooklyn, you’ve got the mother lode." Katherine's silence of a response could only be attributed to her being in shock that the newsboy actually had some logic tucked away in that brain of his.

"Say," Jack said, continuing, "for someone who works for The New York Sun, you's spendin' lots a' time hangin' out with The World." He chuckled. "You followin' me or something?"

Darcy, though Katherine faced away from him, could feel her rolling her eyes. "The only thing _I'm_ following is a story," Katherine said, strolling over to Darcy's table. 

"A ragtag gang of ragamuffins wants to take on the kingmakers of New York?" She made eye-contact with Darcy but didn't show that she recognized him. Then again, why would she - he's just another newsie to her. "Do you think you stand a chance?"

"Say," said Jack, "I've seen a lotta papes in my day an' I never noted no girl reporter writin' hard news." And while the others were agreeing, Darcy was struggling to refrain himself from jumping out of his chair in defense of his friend. Katherine was plenty good, better than some regulars in the papers. She deserved that spot more than anyone else did, and she worked just as hard - harder, even - to prove it.

"Well, wake up to the new century, paperboy," Katherine countered, storming towards Jack. "The game is changing. Now,” she stopped, facing the rest of them, “how about an exclusive interview?"

"Ain't you're beat entertainment?" asked Jack.

"Oh, believe me, this is entertaining."

"Aye, what's the last news story you wrote?"

"What's the last strike you organized?"

"Looks like you's outta your league, Kelly!" said Romeo, strutting over. "Methinks the lady needs to be handled by a-" he paused to puff out his chest, "real man."

"...Youthinks wrong, Romeo," said Katherine.

Romeo walked to Jack, smug despite his rejection. "Hey-o Kelly, how'd she know my name?"

"Get outta here, Ro."

"I think," Davey said bringing the subject back, "we should save real news for a real reporter."

"Do you see anyone else giving you the time of day?" Katherine said, desperate for the boys to see reason.

_Just listen to her!_

"Okay," said Katherine, calming down. "So... I'm just busting out of the social pages, but I promise: if you give me the exclusive, let me run with the story, I'll get you the space."

"You really think we could be in the papes?" said Crutchie, joining the grouping of Davey, Katherine, and Jack.

"You shut down The World - you're gonna make the front page." And with that, the boys began muttering amongst themselves, a grouping of commotion again.

"Wait, this is actually big enough to get in the papers?" Darcy asked Race.

"Oh, sure," responded Race.

"The front page though," said Darcy, turning to the other boys at the table.

"Jo, why are you questionin' this?" asked Specs.

"Cut 'im some slack, Specs," said Albert, "I can barely picture it myself."

"You want a story?" Jack asked. Though the question was intended for Katherine, he was again calling the attention of the room. "Be at the circulation gate tomorrow mornin' and you'll get ya story - oh and bring your camera!" He turned to the boys. "You're gonna wanna snap a picture of this!" The boys whooped and shouted, jumping from their positions in excitement. Darcy ended up near Katherine, almost by instinct, but again, Katherine gave no sign of semblance. And although it was a little disheartening, there was a bigger focus at the moment: not only succeeding in his masquerade, but the acceptance that he couldn't back down from the strike, not with his mission to the Bronx, not with the boys counting on him, not with his life about to be changed.

"Boys, boys, go play outside," called Jacobi, entering the room. He probably had enough of the boys' chattering and exclaims. "I gotta set up for dinner, and there are an' there are workin', _payin’_ customers that need the tables."

"C'mon boys!" shouted Finch, standing up on the table despite what Jacobi had said. "We got newsies to visit!"

"Yeah," added Race, talking straight to Jacobi. "And you won't be shooing us off when we get our mugs in the papes!" Shouts of agreement filled the air.

Hurriedly the boys put their chairs back on the tables and ran outside to wherever the wind took them. For Darcy, that wind would to take him to the Bronx.

"Hey! Jojo!" It was Race, waving him over.

_Please don't be something bad._

"You wanna walk with me ‘til I get to Midtown?"

Darcy was certainly not expecting that. "Oh, sure, yeah."

Now on top of traveling to the Bronx as a member of the streets, finding the Bronx newsies, and telling them about the strike (all before nightfall), Darcy had to endure chatting with Race, practically a stranger. Not for the first time, Darcy wished he was actually Jojo, only for the sake of knowing how to act, how to talk, and who to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> band and school are kicking my h*ckin butt but here i am


	10. Chapter 10

"So why'd ya pick the Bronx?"

Darcy didn't know how to answer Race's question, so he said, "I don't know."

"Aw, come on, Jo. I don't think you's ever been there, so why now?"

"I've - I'se been there before. With... Henry?"

Race eyed him skeptically. "When?"

"Last year."

"Whatever you say, Jojo."

"Well, what about you? Why didn't you go to Brooklyn?"

Race let out a laugh, short and sharp. "I'se got enough goin' on in Brooklyn as is. Don't need to be askin' for more. 'Sides, Jack 'n Dave'll sort it out square."

Darcy was about to say that he hoped they did when his cap was yanked off his head. "Hey!" he shouted, swirling around in a wild rage, looking for the thief because by-George if anyone steals Jojo's cap, Darcy will - let's just say Darcy would be less than happy. But what Darcy found was a young, mousy-haired boy wearing Jojo's cap and riding on the shoulders of the not-as-young, red-haired Albert. Darcy decided he couldn't refer to Albert as “The One Who Gave Him His Hat Back” anymore.

"Hey-o, Jo!" said the little mousy-haired boy, voice littered with giggles. "Hi Race!"

"Hey-o BP, how's the weather up there?" replied Race.

The kid licked his own finger and then stuck it in the air. "Dry," was all he said.

"Alright, now, Peanuts, time for you to get off," said Albert, crouching so the boy could slide off. Once the boy touched the ground he immediately went to Darcy. Darcy held out his hand for the boy to put the cap in, but the boy just held up his arms and bounced a bit. Darcy just stood there waiting for something to happen while Albert and Race talked off to the side, because he honestly had no clue what he was supposed to do. He didn’t hang around little kids. 

“Jojo, can I piggyback? Please?” explained the boy after realizing Darcy wasn’t going to do anything.

_Oh no. Oh no no no no no._ “Um – uh – I – I can’t, kid, not today.”

The boy, who Darcy decided to call BP, looked confused, as if he’d never thought of that as a possibility.

“But… you always do. I’se know you don’t do shoulders like Al, but...”

_Oh no. Oh no no no no no._ “I…”

“Oi, Peanuts! Jo! Hurry it up,” called Race, his eyes boring into Darcy’s as if they were saying, _Do it, stupid!_ Darcy looked at BP, and then Race and Albert, and then back at BP.

_Why did I agree to this?_ Darcy thought for the umpteenth time, but finally came to terms with the matter. He crouched down by the boy and tried his best to put on a smile. “Alrighty, BP. Hop on my back, we got places to be.”

The boy’s face brightened and Darcy decided right then and there that he would carry BP a thousand miles if it meant the boy would stay this happy. And although BP was a little heavy (though Darcy wasn’t sure if it was the right weight for a boy that age), Darcy managed his way over to Race and Albert.

“Ready?” asked Albert.

Darcy nodded.

Off they trod.

*****

“Peanuts, where are you an’ Al off to?” asked Race.

“We’s helpin’ Mush in Harlem. Hey Jo, I heard you’s takin’ the Bronx all lonesome. You need any help?”

Darcy wanted to tell the boy that “lonesome” wasn’t the right word to use, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed correct. So instead he said, “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Over the last couple of minutes the four of them had been walking, Darcy had figured that it was okay that he was traveling to the Bronx by himself. Going alone meant less of a way to blow his cover or make a fool out of himself or both. Hopefully both.

“Could you put my cap back on, though?”

“BP don’t do it, he’s crazy!” called Race.

“You are?” BP asked.

“I am not!” objected Darcy.

“That sounds _just_ like something a crazy person would say!” added Albert.

“Jojo, how could you do this to us?” said Race, feigning shock. “One second you’s good as gold, and the next you go _being a crazy person_! The au _da_ cidity!”

“Don’t you mean the audacity?”

The boys stopped playing around, puzzlement crossing onto their faces.

“Ooookay, Schoolboy,” said Albert. “Whatever you’s say.”

Darcy didn’t have an answer. He found himself without answers more often than not.

“We was just joking, Jo.” Darcy smiled a little, if just to appease Race, while BP put Jojo’s cap back on his head.

"Your hair's a bit greasy, Jojo," commented BP.

"Thanks for noticing," Darcy replied. He didn't like to think about the fact that he hadn't gotten to wash up last night, or have a decent meal, or have a decent night of sleep.

"You should think 'bout washin' it from time-to-time."

*****

“Jojo?” It was BP again, now talking softly so only Darcy could hear.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you smile anymore?”

“What do you mean? I’ve been smiling. I’m - I’se smiling right now, see?” He turned his head and beamed at the boy on his back.

“Nah, you’s just doin’ that for show. I’se noticed it lots today and yesterday. But you’s been doin’ it before then too. I’se just wanna know you’s okay.”

“I promise I’m okay, BP.”

“It’s just –” BP looked ahead to see if Race and Albert were paying attention, but they seemed to be in the middle of a heavy discussion about who-knows-what, so the boy returned to his own conversation. “You’s used to smile all the time. Not just for the littles, ya know, but for all the newsies. And they's were real, genu-ine smiles. But I’se seen you fake it more an’ more an’ more, puttin’ on a face for the littles like the men at them circuses can do. But I’se little, Jojo, only seven, but I ain’t dumb. The littlers are fallin’ for it now, and even some littles, but I don’t want them all findin’ out, you know? I just wanna know: is there any way to make you happy again?”

_Oh._

“Well…” Darcy started, repositioning BP on his back, “being a newsie is hard work, right?”

“Sure.”

“And sometimes you’re – you can’t always the happiest, right?”

“I guess so.”

“So sometimes you have to pretend to be happy so your brain is happy.”

“What?”

“It’s like a mind trick. Sometimes… acting a certain way will make your head think different. And make others think different about you. So sometimes, even if you’s having a bad day, smiling and acting happy will make it seem better, even if it’s not.”

“…Okay.”

“So if you see someone smiling, but their eyes give away that they’re not happy…give ‘em a hug and tell ‘em how great they are.”

“Their eyes?” BP whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Is that how you feel? When you smile but you's not happy?”

“Maybe. Maybe only sometimes. Here: if I ever look mopey, if my eyes look sad, give them a hug, okay? And for other newsies too. Hugs cures the Mopeys.”

“The Mopeys?”

“Yeah. Can you do that for me?”

“I think so.”

Darcy hoped so. He wasn’t a counselor, but he tried his best to do what he could for the boy he was pretending to be.

*****

Race dropped off from their group without fanfare, which was shocking because the boy’s presence demanded it. Albert and BP went headfirst into a lengthy discussion about… pigeons? Darcy just listened, not knowing enough about the nature of pigeons to join in, but just enough to follow their conversation.

The conversation then switched from pigeons to types of birds, and from types to amounts they could name off the top of their head (BP made Darcy play, but then got upset when Darcy knew two more birds than him), and from amount to debating whether a peacock was a real bird.

“Jojo you’s gotta be makin’ that one up,” argued BP. “How can it be so blue? And have so many feathers?”

“Jojo, I’m with BP on this one,” said Albert.

Darcy let it slide.

The conversations switched one by one until they reached the middle of Harlem, and BP finally slid off Darcy’s back. Darcy knew he would be in pain from walking that far with a small child on his back, mostly because he was feeling that pain right now. He had never had much strength in his arms, or his legs, or his entire body for that matter.

“Come one, BP, let’s go find Mush,” said Albert.

“I’ll be right there, Al, hold up,” said BP, turning to Darcy and motioning for him to bend down to his level. When Darcy did, he was met with a tight hug.

“You’re greater than the moon, Jojo,” the boy said. “Greater than Jack’s Santa Fe.”

Darcy didn’t know what Santa Fe meant to Jack, but he didn’t say anything because it probably meant something to BP, and something to Jojo, so he held tight to BP until the boy let go. When the boy _did_ let go, Darcy found that he wanted to hold on longer.

“Barney Peanuts!”

“Coming, Albert!”

*****

Darcy really shouldn’t have picked the Bronx. It was too far away. Once he reached edge of Manhattan, it dawned on him that he would have to cross a bridge, and still after find the Jack-equivalent and talk to them.

Traveling on foot was entirely different than in a carriage or Katherine’s father’s fancy automobile. Traveling on foot was hotter. It was longer. It was slower. Darcy was disoriented, but oriented at the same time. Some moments Darcy would think he was lost, but then a shop sign would familiarize him to the area.

He almost collapsed when he finally came upon the Macombs Dam Bridge, his passageway to the Bronx. Darcy gave himself until he counted to 100 to rest his feet. Then he crossed over.

*****

Darcy didn’t know where to start, so he decided to go from the bottom of the Bronx and work his way up. The Bronx was as hot as Manhattan, as noisy, and… Darcy didn’t know why he was comparing the two. Maybe it was because it gave his mind something to do besides think about why why why he chose the Bronx, why he went by himself, why he didn’t let BP come with him. The reality of the situation settled in and Darcy figured he’d never find the Bronx leader in time.

“Oi, mister!” called a voice.

Darcy tuned the voice out, thinking it was just a passing pedestrian.

“Hey! Mister newsie!” That’s when Darcy stopped and searched for the voice, a little girl’s if Darcy was correct. Something tugged at his pants. It was indeed a little girl, about BP’s size. Her blonde hair was in ragged braids. She wore a simple, tattered, and faded yellow dress that hung from her small body. A skipping stone was gripped in her hand.

“Can I help you?” Darcy asked, crouching to her eye-level like he did with BP.

“More like, can I help _you_ , huh? You ain’t Bronx, are ya?”

“No, I’m –”

“THEN WHY YA HERE ON BRONX TURF?” the girl shouted in his face. Darcy, startled by the outburst, lost his balance and fell ungracefully on his back.

“I can explain –” Darcy started, trying to recollect himself.

“I hope you can, mister, or else.” Darcy didn’t know whether to be intimidated by the child, but he had a growing feeling he should be.

“Listen, kid – I need to talk to the leader of the Bronx newsies. Urgent newsie business. Do you know where they are? Or can you at least help me find them?”

“Sure, mister, I can help ya, but I don’t know how willing she will be.”

“She?”

“You want help, or no?”

“No of course, of course.”

“Then let’s go.”

Darcy didn’t think it would have been that easy, but he took what he could get.

*****

“How’d you know I was a newsie?” Darcy asked the girl.

“We all have a certain look, us newsies,” said the girl. “Takes one to spot one.”

“You sell newspapers?”

“Oh sure, why?”

“You just – I didn’t think – you don’t strike me as a newsie.”

“I guess the ‘takes one to spot one’ doesn’t really work in your borough.”

“We don’t have girl newsies in my borough, is all.”

“Doubt it.”

“No, I’m pretty sure.”

“You guys gotta get that fixed.”

Darcy looked up at the afternoon sky. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“South Bronx. Morrisania area. Ya know, ya don’t sound like no newsie, Mister.”

“I’m working on it. And my name’s Jojo.”

“Don’t look like a Jojo.”

“I’m working on that too.”

“You say weird stuff, Mister.”

Darcy didn’t really care at that point; he just wished his feet would stop hurting. It seemed like forever before the girl stopped rambling about whatever and said, “We’re here, Mister!” before heading into a building that looked an awful lot like the Manhattan Lodging House. Darcy had no choice but to follow her inside.

“Smalls? Smaaaaalls? You in here?” shouted the girl into the empty building.

“She’s upstairs, darling!” called an older woman from further inside the lodge. Not so empty, then. “Let’s go, Mister,” the girl said, going up the rickety stairs and stopping at the first door on the left.

The girl knocked twice.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open to show a newsie sitting on the floor counting coins.

“Hiya Smalls,” said the newsie in the dress.

“Hiya Hops,” said the newsie on the floor.

Darcy was about to say, “That doesn’t look like a girl”, but the words died in his throat. She was, indeed, a female, but not like Darcy had pictured. The newsie on the floor, Smalls, was wearing trousers and stockings and a cap like any other newsboy Darcy would see on the streets. She even had her hair cut like a boy.

“What, you never seen a girl in pants before?” Smalls said, looking Jojo dead in the eye.

“He ain’t never seen a girl newsie before, apparently,” the little girl, Hops, chimed in.

“What’s ‘Hattan been _teaching_ you over there, boy? I thought Kelly was better than that.”

“How - how’d you know I was from Manhattan?” Darcy stuttered.

“You lot reek of happiness and overpopulation. What’s your name, kid?”

“This here’s Jojo,” Hops cut in. “He’s not Bronx and he talks a bit funny but he said he’s got some important newsie news.”

“Uh, well –” Darcy began.

“Spit it out, kid.”

“The Manhattan newsies are on strike because Pulitzer and Hearst and all the other newspaper companies have raised the newsie price and we were wondering if you’d join us because if there’s more of us then they’ll take that into account and give us back the price because if none of us work no one gets news so will you help us please?”

“Yeah, I saw the new price. What does Brooklyn say?”

“Pardon?”

Smalls stood up, brushed herself off, and walked to Darcy with the confidence of ten grown men. Smalls lived up to her name, barely reaching Darcy’s shoulders, but she had a glare that was more fit for Brooklyn. “I said: what does Brooklyn say?”

“I don’t know, we’re asking them right now.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Jack and this new kid –”

“Why am I not surprised Kelly is leading this. Go and tell Kelly: if Brooklyn’s in, Bronx is in. That’s the deal, there’s no changing it.”

“But –"

“Listen, kid. I want to help. Despite the impression you made and your poor delivery of information, I actually want to be part of the cause. And them newspaper men, they’re real jerks. But I ain’t riskin’ my newsies for something that could get them hungry, or hurt, or worse. Brooklyn is key to all of this, because they’re the toughest and, frankly, the smartest – Hops, don’t you dare tell anyone else that – so unless Brooklyn is in, I can’t help you. You have as much odds winning without Brooklyn as you do beating Hops in scotch-hoppers.”

Darcy didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to say when Smalls closed her door, he didn’t know what to say as Hops led him out of the house, he didn’t know what to say when Hops led him back to Macombs.

He knew finding the Bronx leader was too easy. This is what he gets for it.

“Sorry about ya strike, Mister.”

Darcy finally found his words. “It’s not your fault, Hops.”

“I’ll talk to Smalls. She’ll turn around eventually.”

“I hope so.”

“I'll talk to Snipeshooter, too. The two of them's a team. She'll soften Smalls up and have her see reason. Hey, Mister?”

“Yes?”

“Can you come back sometime to play scotch-hoppers with me?”

“Will you let me win?” Darcy asked, smiling.

“What? N – oh, you’s jokin’ aren’t ya?”

“Yeah, Hops, I’se jokin’.”

“Don’t talk like that, Mister, it makes you sound funny.”

Darcy couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth. “Thanks, Hops.”

“Welcome, Mister.”

Darcy waved goodbye and walked across the bridge, back to Manhattan. The only thing left to do was find the Lodging House again, break the news to everyone that the Bronx wasn’t in, and wait for them to be disappointed because Darcy didn’t want help to start, and now Manhattan wouldn’t get help in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey it's ya boy, uh, procrastination
> 
> also i love hops i would die for her


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kiddos so this technically isn't an update if you were reading before the new year - it's more like a cleaning. i went through and edited the chapters and inserted a new second chapter so if you haven't read that yet go ahead and do so if you want. i promise i haven't forgot about this fic and i don't have a good reason for not uploading, but ironically i think school starting up again will make me update more. we'll see. happy reading!

It was needless to say that Jojo and Bill didn’t make it to the art museum, not with the way Jojo had reacted to the news of the strike.

Jojo didn't know how to elaborate on "We gotta help 'em somehow" other than just repeating that phrase over and over, so he just told Bill they'd talk about it tomorrow and went back to Reid Mansion. He let himself in, rushing to Darcy's room, mind still reeling. He needed to help these boys. He needed to help his boys.

*****

Jojo wasn't the smartest sixteen-year-old out there, not by a long shot. Just this year he had fallen into one of the harbors while chasing after a stray paper, scratched and bruised his face while playing leapfrog with the littles, and pronounced vaudeville "vaudy-vile" - and those were only what he could name off the top of his head. So it didn't come as a surprise to Jojo when the only thought in his mind was "I gotta help 'em, I gotta help 'em, I gotta help 'em". He laid on Darcy's bed, staring at the ceiling, for what seemed like hours, trying to form a coherent thought, but failing.

A knock on his door startled him out of his "train of thought".

"Darcy?" It was Jean, calling from the other side of the door. "Are you alright in there?"

"Peachy, Jean."

"Oh... okay, well, I was just... supper is nearly ready."

"Thanks, Jean."

Jojo tried to move from his position on the bed, he really did. But it was almost as if his body was glued to the sheets, like the bed grabbed hold of him and wouldn't let go. His limbs had lost their strength and his mind was more centered on other matters. He laid on Darcy's bed, staring at the ceiling, for what seemed like hours, trying to tell his body to rise.

A knock on his door sounded again. "It's me again, Darcy," Jean said.

"Um, Jeanie? Can you help me in here?," Jojo called.

Jean opened the door but stayed in the doorway. Jojo couldn't see her from where he lay, but he hoped Jean knew he was listening.

"You haven’t called me that in years."

"Okay, sorry, or something, but I don't think I'se - I can’t move too good. Can you please help me get up?"

Jean made a sound like a mix between a giggle and a sigh - Jojo had heard it from some of the boys sometimes - and, based off of what Jojo could hear, made her way over to Darcy's bed. He felt a tug at his arm and, like magic, he started to rise.

"Jean, how'd ya do that?" Jojo asked when he finally came to a sitting position.

"Sister magic," was all Jean had to answer. "Oh, and supper's ready. Ogden said to get you."

"Do I have to look at him?."

Jean let out a sharp laugh. “I’m afraid so.”

“Then I’m not coming down.”

"Okay, Darcy, then I guess you're gonna starve," Jean said, full giggles now coating her words.

_Wouldn't be the first time,_ Jojo thought. He debated whether or not to actually avoid Ogden at the dining table. One one hand _Ogden_. On the other hand, Jojo needed an ally in the house.

He followed Jean down the stairs.

*****

"How was the art museum?" Ogden asked.

"We didn't end up going," Jojo said to his food, not because he didn't want to look Ogden in the eyes (he didn't want to do that anyway), but because the sheer amount of food on his plate baffled him, yet again. "You ever think about givin' this extra food to the poor folk?"

"Why didn't you end up going?" Ogden said, ignoring Jojo's question.

"Katherine was busy. How many people do you think a plate of this food would feed?"

"Why was Katherine busy?"

"She was following a news story. Why aren’t you answerin' my questions?"

"Because, Darcy, I don't know why we would waste food on people who couldn’t pay us back."

"Ogden!" It was Jean.

"Exactly! Thank, you Jean!" said Jojo, finally looking up from his plate. "Ogden, ain't you like a philo - philampthri - Jean, help me out here."

"A philanthropist?"

"Yeah! That!"

"Father is," Ogden responded, "but I am not."

"Why?"

"I have better things to do, Darcy."

"So then I guess ya don't care about the newsie price goin' up ten cents?"

"Actually, I do care about that. See, what concerns the Tribune, concerns me."

"And you didn’t think to tell me about it? I only just found out today from Bill.”

“I did not occur to me that you wanted to know.”

“Why do you think I wouldn’t want to know?”

“Well, to start, I don’t recall you going into the newspaper industry. I think you wanted to be a - what was it? An explorer? How does it feel still possessing the mind of a nine-year-old?”

" _God_ , Ogden!" shouted Jojo, on his feet now. "Everythin' you say is cold and heartless! You's like a stone statue - unable to feel anything. You rat! There are hundreds a' kids workin' they's asses off just to get pennies - _pennies_ , Ogden - to feed themselves an' their folks, sleepin' in packed rooms or streets in way worse neighborhoods than here, and you don't think about nobody or nothin' but ya'self! You's even treatin' Jean like a slave when you ain't even master of the house. And what do you do for fun? Bug me about things I like to do, but then get all offended when I talk about your snobby position. For once, get off your high horse and be a respectable member of society, would ya?"

Nothing was heard except Jojo's heavy breathing. He glared daggers into Ogden's wide eyes.

_Good job, Jojo, way to mind your temper._

"Darcy?" Jean whispered, barely heard. "I think you should go to your room."

Jojo left the dining room in silence, but didn't climb the stairs to his room. No, he opened the door and walked out into the night, going wherever his feet took him.

*****

Jojo shouldn't have been surprised to find that he ended up in front of the Lodging House. Even from outside he could hear his boys chatting up a storm while preparing to settle in for the night.

_Darcy's in there. The_ real _Darcy. He's with the boys. My boys. My brothers._

Jojo could feel tears welling up in his eyes. God, he missed them. It had only been a day and a half (and only a day since Jojo and Darcy's switch had begun), but he wanted to see them so, so badly. He missed Race's smile. He missed Crutchie's hugs. He missed Finch stealing his hat and Albert giving it back and Ike giving him a roll from Jacobi's and the sound of the boys at night in peaceful sleep. He missed the littles that he tried his best to save face for when he was at his worst. And, yes, he missed selling his daily papes.

Jojo let is tears fall.

It would be so easy to walk into the Lodging House and call off the bet. But he couldn't do that to his boys, not yet, not when a strike had just begun.

_I’m sorry I left. I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know._

Jojo wiped his eyes and turned on is heels.

_But I can’t do anything about that now. I have to move on and send aid another way._

Jojo knew what he had to do. He had to endure the Reid Mansion for a few more days. But he wouldn’t spend those days sitting on his rear and arguing with Ogden until his voice gave out and he died from being too full of rage. No, he would meet with Bill the next day and do what he had decided to do - he would help the newsies, one way or another.


	12. Chapter 12

It shouldn’t have been the case, but when Darcy returned to the Lodging House that night he was more than elated to discover that the other newsies had about as much luck as he did recruiting the other boroughs - which is to say, none at all.

“Jojo, come help me with this!” called a voice from the main room of the bottom floor. When Darcy entered he found that the voice belonged to Crutchie who was sitting at a table with paint and a piece of cloth on it.

“Heya, Crutchie, what are you workin’ on?” Darcy said, peering over the boy’s shoulder.

“Well, I wanted to show my support for the union so I thought I’d make a banner that says ‘STRIKE!’ and hang it off my crutch. Smart, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’ll definitely send a message,” said Darcy, smiling and patting Crutchie’s shoulder.

“Only problem is,” said Crutchie, “I ain’t too sure on how to spell ‘strike’. I figured you’s pretty smart, and you just walked in, so I couldn’t help askin’, just on the off-chance I forget.”

_I’ve got nothing better to do._

“Well, I’ve got nothin’ better to do, so, yeah, I’ll help you.” Darcy pulled up a chair from a nearby table and they set to work.

*****

“Any luck today with the Bronx newsies?” Crutchie asked as he was finishing his “T”.

“Nah, they said they’d only be in if Brooklyn’s in. Brooklyn’s pretty important, yeah?”

Crutchie made a face of bewilderment. “‘Course they are, Jo. Where have you been, living under a rock? Have you _seen_ them? Every last one of them’s built like an ox. Anyway, the trend seems to be that the boroughs’ll only be in if Brooklyn’s a part of the plan, so we just have to wait until Davey and Jack get back.”

“So where did _you_ go today?” asked Darcy, changing the subject before he embarrassed himself any more.

“It’s ‘R’ next, right? Um, I took the East Side with Tommy Boy. Same result as you.”

The boys sat in the candlelit room, Crutchie painting on the letters and Darcy helping when needed. Crutchie had just finished the last letter when an old man, who Crutchie called Kloppman, informed the boys that it was time to sleep.

*****

Darcy had just climbed into his bunk when a thought hit him. Leaning down toward the bottom bunk he asked, “Race?”

“Yeah?” mumbled Race, laying on his side, obviously trying to sleep.

“Did Jack ever come back?”

“I think he’s sleepin’ at Dave’s. Don’t worry about it, Jo.”

It was all Darcy could do _not_ to worry as the lights went out and the darkness envelope him.

*****

Darcy woke to rustling and murmuring. Squinting his eyes, he saw several newsies getting dressed and heading out the door. He sat up, perhaps a little too quickly, afraid he was late to wherever he was supposed to be. 

“Mornin’, Sleepyhead,” said Elmer, hopping onto the frame of Darcy’s bunk, making Darcy jump.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Darcy mumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Everyone’s going to the gates to see if any of the other newsies are comin’.”

*****

Darcy managed to gather himself quickly enough to leave with Elmer, Crutchie, Buttons, and a boy Darcy wasn’t well-acquainted with yet named Kenny.

On their way to the circulation gates, Darcy noticed something dangling from Crutchie’s crutch.

“Is that your banner, Crutchie?”

Crutchie looked down at his crutch. “Sure is! Do you like it?” He held it up for the rest of them to see, receiving compliments and praise for his work.

“It turned out great, Crutchie, they’ll love it,” said Darcy. And he meant it, sure the other boys would at least appreciate the effort Crutchie had gone to.

*****

Just outside the gates Darcy could see Specs standing where the headlines were displayed, a few other newsies milling about inside.

“Hey, Jack!” called Crutchie, rushing over to his friend at the entrance, the other boys quickly following behind ( _Man, he is faster than he looks._ ), stopping when he got there. “Look what I made! Good, huh?” Crutchie held up his crutch, the banner showing “STRIKE”. “STRIIIIIKE!” he roared, making the boys smile.

“That’s great, Crutch!” exclaimed Race before turning to Davey, saying, “That’s pitful.”

“Hey, I liked it,” said Darcy, to no one in particular.

“Race is just a bit stressed, is all,” said Elmer. “I don’t think any boroughs said they were coming - ‘sides ours, of course.”

As if to emphasize what Elmer had said, Jack yelled upward to Specs, “Any sign of reinforcements?”

The boys held their breath, which was extinguished when Specs gave an exaggerated thumbs down.

_What are we even doing here?_

“C’mon fellas,” said Davey, “we don’t need those other guys backing us up. Isn’t it more courageous to go about it alone? Is it not more impactful to Hearst and Pulitzer in their towers if they see us revolting by ourselves?”

“And they’ll see our little army of newsies,” added Jack, “standin’ together - not that big, but definitely big with pride. They’ll see us fightin’ for each other, and for those who wish they were fightin’, but are too afraid. They’re still our brothers,” he said, placing a hand on Crutchie’s shoulder, “and that means we fight for them, too.”

The ringing distribution bell cut through the atmosphere surrounding them, bringing the newsies back to the present.

Davey faced them all again. “Now is the time to seize the day. If we stand together, this strike will be over before we know it.” The boys gathered together as a group and headed into the what awaited them together - as one.

*****

“The strike starts now, Weasel,” shouted Jack to the old man. “What’s your play?”

“My play is your lack of pay, boy,” Weasel answered. “That is, unless you’ve changed your minds and want to pick up your papes.”

“Never!” yelled a voice from the mob of boys.

“Suit yourself,” said one of the Delanceys, “but make way for those who are.”

Confusion among the newsies was soon dispelled as three newcomers pushed their way through the crowd toward Weasel.

“Who are they?” asked Davey.

“ _Scabs_ ,” said Jack, seething.

_Scabs?_

“And they think they can just _waltz_ in here and take our jobs?” Finch objected.

“We can handle them!”

“Soak ‘em!”

The three new boys stopped, frozen, holding their papers for dear life, terrified of the mob that was blocking their exit.

“Stop stop stop!” cried Davey, spreading his arms out in attempt to prevent the newsies from attacking. “What did I say? We are in this together! That means them, too. Right, Jack?”

“I hear you,” said Jack, eyes glued to the scabs. “Listen, fellas. I know someone else put you up to this, probably paid you lots to do it, whatever - thing is, it’s not right. Not ethical, as my pal Davey would put it. Pulitzer? He thinks we’re scum. _Gutter rats_. Maniacal kids with no respect for ourselves, or each other, or nothin’. Is that who we are? Is that who we want to be seen as? Is that what we want Pulitzer to think of us as? _No_. But you doin’ this, goin’ behind other newsies’ backs and takin’ advantage of the want for work, that’s playin’ into Pulitzer’s hand. And I know, I know, you need money, but - hell - we all need the money. But if we stand together, we have a chance to influence Pulitzer and change the whole game.”

Jack surveyed the scene around him. The Manhattan newsies were silent. The scabs were silent. Even Weasel and the Delanceys were silent. Darcy knew in that moment that Jack was a born leader, and this was what he was born to do.

_Sounds like one hell of an adventure to me._

Jack’s voice and passion in it rose as he continued. “And this strike? It ain’t only about us! No, there are boys and girls all around the city who should be out playing, but they can’t because they gotta work to support themselves and their folks! They gotta work or else they’ll be on the streets starving themselves to death! Now I’m not sayin’ being poor is a crime, or nothin’. You don’t see us complainin’ about that. We deal with it, it is how it is. But when we get treated like worse than that, that there is a problem! We just want a square deal.

“So for the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in this city, I beg you: throw down your papers… and join the strike.”

No one spoke. No one dared to break the air that seemed to be holding its own breath. No one attempted to unfreeze this unforgettable moment in time.

So why was it surprising when Les was the one to break with a simple question: “Please?”

All at once the scabs came back to life. The frontmost one all but charged towards Jack, causing the Manhattan newsies to back Jack up.

But the scab halted before he got too close to Jack, raising his papers in the air, declaring “I’m with you!” before slamming his papers on the ground.

The second scab tried his best to dodge around the crowd, to blend in so he wouldn’t get caught, but Davey stopped him. “Now is the time to seize the day.”

“Yeah, Davey!”

“You tell him, Dave!”

Davey got closer to the second scab. “Listen to your friend over there - listen to Jack - it’s better to join now than later. Everything’ll be fixed if we’re all united. Seize the day - do something extraordinary.”

The second scab didn’t even take the time to think about it - he slammed his papers on the ground, same as the first.

“You’re kiddin’ me, right?” cried the third scab. “You’re not really believin’ this, are you?”

“Really, Jim, really?” replied the second scab. “At the end of the day, who are you going to trust? Who’s gonna have your back? It ain’t the Hearst, it ain’t Reid, and it certainly ain’t Pulitzer.”

“Listen to him, kid,” added Jack. “Like it or not, you gotta choose, and we’s closin’ in on you fast.”

“I…”

“We’s mighty proud, and we’s mighty defiant. We’s a bunch of Davids taking on Goliaths - and it’s judgment day.

The third scab looked around him at the crowd that had enclosed him. “I… oh, what the hell, my father’s gonna kill me anyway!” The slam of papers on the ground sent eruptions of cheers throughout the boys, throughout the city.

“This is gonna spread from Houston to Harlem - farther even!”

“Hell, it’ll probably reach New Jersey!”

“One for all, and all for one!” Darcy shouted, because he couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

“Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!”

One by one the boys joined the chanting of “strike”, pulling papers off of wagons and out of stacks, ripping them and sending them flying in the air. It was as though a spell was cast over them, transforming them from people to wild animals. The boys jumped on piles of papers, knocking the structures down, stomping them into dust. A pack of young newsies ran towards the Delanceys and Weasel, sending them scattering in panic.

“ _You see this, Mr. Pulitzer?_ ” shouted Crutchie to the back windows of a building that sat behind the distribution stand that could only be Pulitzer’s office.

“Don’t matter if he sees or don’t,” said a voice behind them. It was one of the Delanceys, returning after gathering his wits, holding up a hand that showed off brass knuckles. “We certainly do, and we’s gonna stop you.”

“Aw, shut it, Morris, what are ya gonna do about it?” called Specs from his spot atop an overturned wagon.

“Let’s just say if you’s don’t quit,” said the other Delancey, walking out of the shadows with a struggling Les in his hands, “this one's gonna eat it.”

There was only a brief pause before Jack tackled the second Delancey, followed by Davey who tried punching the one named Morris. Fortunately for Jack, tackling Not-Morris caused Les to be freed. Unfortunately for Davey, Morris blocked the incoming attack and gave Davey a punch of his own, grabbing Les before the kid could get away.

“Get ‘em, boys, let’s go!” cried someone, Darcy guessed Kenny, and as if they all had the same mind, the boys rushed upon the Delanceys, giving it their all - including Darcy, whose entire reasoning was thrown out the window, adrenaline clouding his judgement. They whirled around the Delanceys, an intricate dance that somehow resulted with half holding Morris and the other half holding Not-Morris and concluded with Les bashing their heads against each other, and the Delanceys running off yet again with their hands against their heads.

“And stay out!” shouted Darcy, even going so far as to push Not-Morris for extra emphasis.

“You tell ‘em, Jo!”

“Atta boy, Jojo!”

“There’s still some papes layin’ about,” said Jack. “We aren’t gonna leave ‘em there to be sold, huh?”

“ _Charge!_ ” shouted Albert in response, sending the throng of newsies yelling and screaming and running to the remaining stacks.

“Pulitzer’s gonna see there’s hell to pay!”

“We ain’t quittin’ ‘fore we’s through!”

“One for all and all for one!” shouted Darcy again.

“Yeah, what Jo said!” exclaimed Finch. “One for all and all for one!”

“One for all and all for one!”

“Boys!” called a voice that Darcy would know blind.

“Kathy,” said Darcy before quickly covering his mouth with his hand. He thanked the stars that his comment was hidden in the newsies’ jubilance.

“I’m here to take your picture,” she said as more and more of the boys realized she was here, gesturing to the cameraman who came along. “Set up around the distribution desk and let me take your picture - then you can go back to celebrating.”

“Hey New Kid, Mike, Crutchie, Jojo, hurry up!” yelled Race from where he stood, already in place. Needless to say the four stragglers sprinted over double-time.

“Okay, big smiles on three,” called Katherine. “One. Two. _Three_!”

Darcy grinned as wide as he could, mind reeling on what had just occurred. A bright flash came and went, and Darcy knew - _Darcy knew_ \- that the adventures he had read about for years had manifested into reality, that this was what he had been in search of for so long. The feeling of brotherhood, a feeling of acceptance, a feeling of putting your worries and responsibilities behind you for the sake of a greater outcome.

The instant the flash was gone the boys were back at it again, papers in the air, papers on the ground, crumpled papers, torn papers, even paper snowball fights.

A loud clanging brought them all out of their revelry.

It was the Delanceys once again. This time, however, they were joined by Weasel, who held the club that had made the noise, and numerous other men twice the size of any newsie.

“Back up, back up, _back up_ ,” Jack told the boys, huddling them to an area opposite the men.

Darcy scoured his surrounding until he saw Katherine, staring at her directly in the eye. To hell with disguises - there was no way his friend would get hurt. “Katherine, get out of here now.”

She looked at his quizzically, opening and closing her mouth as if she wanted to say something.

“Katherine, get out of here, _now_.”

Though hesitantly, Katherine and the cameraman swiftly left the scene.

Now it was only himself whom Darcy had to look after.

In their little corner the boys passed stacks of papes that weren’t fully destroyed yet.

_Are we really using these as weapons? They won’t do anything._

“Newsies…” said Jack. “Soak ‘em!”

In an uncoordinated wave, piles of newspaper were catapulted towards the men. A few were struck, but the majority barreled toward the boys.

Jack faced the newsies. “Scatter! Scram!”

The newsies didn’t hesitate to do so.

Darcy, regaining some of senses, rallied a group of littles, herding them away from the scene. However, a large hand grabbing his shoulder and throwing him to the ground prevented him from completing that task.

“BP!” Darcy yelled to one of the littles in the group. “Get yourselves back to the House!”

If BP responded, Darcy couldn’t hear. He was too caught up with a fist coming in contact with his face, feet to his gut, a whistle to his ears.

A policeman’s whistle.

The beatings stopped.

_Oh, thank God._

“It’s about time you showed up,” Darcy heard Romeo say. “They’re _slaughtering_ us.”

Darcy heard a sickening slap and the fist and feet were back. Darcy had no recollection of where he was, no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t breathe.

“Hey!”

It could have been the voice of an angel and Darcy wouldn’t have thought otherwise. All he knew was following that word his airways opened up of the pain stopped coming.

“Get out of here, Jo. Get back to the House!” It wasn’t until later that Darcy found out that voice was Jack’s.

Darcy tried, he really did. He stumbled and was half blind and couldn’t remember how to leave. An hand caught Darcy’s arm and he tried to protest, but another hand caught his other arm and Darcy knew it was helpless to resist.

“Calm down, you stupid idiot, it’s me and Blink,” said someone sounding like Albert.

_I take it back - this wasn’t the adventure I wanted._

Darcy blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these boys sure enjoy shouting
> 
>  
> 
> lol remember when i said i'd try to not procrastinate writing this


	13. Chapter 13

If one was to walk into Darcy Reid’s bedroom the second morning of the Newsboy Strike, they would find a person who looked quite like Darcy Reid casually pacing about Darcy Reid’s room in Darcy Reid’s sleepwear, the book _Robinson Crusoe_ (owned by Darcy Reid) in his hand. If one were to ask the one that looks like Darcy Reid what he was doing, he would tell you that he was trying to come up with a plan to help the newsies, and that looking in books might spark an idea into his mind. What he _wouldn’t_ tell you was that he was actually avoiding leaving his room in case he was to cross paths with Darcy Reid’s older brother, and that if he knew where Darcy Reid’s best friend Bill lived, he would already be out the door and on his way there. But on the outside, at least, the boy pulled off the appearance of Darcy Reid.

Which was why when Darcy Reid’s mother opened her son’s bedroom door, she wasn’t fazed by what she saw.

“Darcy, dear, what are you still doing in your room this late in the day?”

Jojo, startled, dropped his book on the ground in surprise. “I, um…” He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He wasn’t expecting anyone to barge in.

_Mother also said to remind you that you and Bill are taking Katherine to the art museum tomorrow, and that she's going to be late because of her Secretary duties._

Jojo could only assume that the woman before him was Darcy’s mother. She was a middle-aged woman with wrinkles just starting to show around her eyes and lips. Her hair resembled that of Jean - the exact same shade of dark brown (though with gray streaked in)- and a pointedness that resembled Ogden, though hers was more elegant than assertive.

“It’s a beautiful day outside,” Mrs. Reid said, walking over to pick up the dropped book, examining it. “You shouldn’t spend it closed in your walls, reading children’s novels.”

“Um, I…”

“Oh, what am I doing?” Mrs. Reid continued, walking over to Jojo with her arms open wide, enveloping him in a hug that Jojo didn’t - couldn’t - reciprocate. When she drew away she said, “How was Woodside? I know I was whisked away by the Red Cross again, but I hope you enjoyed it just the same.”

“Oh, yeah, it was good.”

“So, why is it you are hiding away on a day like today?”

“It’s sorta complicated.”

Mrs. Reid squinted at Jojo, as if examining him. “You fought with Ogden again.”

“That may have been a part of it.”

“Well, no son of mine is going to stay inside while the sun is shining. Go visit Bill - or Katherine.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” Jojo said, not only because he had just seen Bill the day before, but mostly because he knew he wouldn’t be able to find Bill’s or Katherine’s home by himself.

“Darcy Alexander Reid, I will not hear any more of this,” Mrs. Reid said, walking back toward the door. “You children are going out less and less each day. How are you supposed to grow when rooms prevent you from doing so? You better be down and out in half an hour, or I will certainly force you into a room with no one else but Ogden in it, and I am fully aware of your opinions on one another, so I expect you will choose the correct option. And do put on some clothes while you are at it.”

*****

Jojo’s shoulders ached for no good reason. That wasn’t to say Jojo hadn’t experienced random aches and pains - it’s just that he usually knew the reason for them. His left shoulder from him pape bag; his feet from shoes with no support; his stomach from lack of food; his mind from lack of water; his voice from hawking the headlines; his motivation from monotony.

But it was strange to find, as Jojo descended the stairs with ten minutes to spare, that both of his shoulders were sore, despite his lack of exertion the past day.

“Jeanie?” Jojo called from the entryway. Jean appeared from a nowhere - of course, she appeared from _somewhere_ , but Jojo couldn’t discern from where. Somewhere on the bottom floor. This house had too many rooms.

“What do you need, Darcy? Oh, you’re dressed very plainly today.”

Jojo looked down at himself. He supposed, compared to his previous suits, and definitely compared to Jean and her dresses, his attire for the day was quite plain - brown slacks, a cream shirt, and a brown coat and hat to match the slacks - but it made him feel more comfortable, more easily blended in with the crowd, less likely to stand out.

“Um, how do you spell Bill’s street’s name?”

“...What?”

“The street that Bill lives on.”

“Yes.”

“How do you spell it?”

“Well, um -”

“Jean!” Jojo heard Mrs. Reid calling from the unseeable room. “Where did you go? These needlepoints are not going to needle themselves!”

“Coming, Mother!” Jean called back. “Sorry, Darcy,” she said as she started walking back to the unseeable room. “It’s spelled phonetically!”

Jojo wished he knew what that meant.

*****

For a while Jojo just sat on the steps to Reid Mansion. What else could he do? Sure, he could go to Central Park - it was only a couple minutes away. Sure, he could go to the Woodside - he knew how to get there like the back of his hand. Sure, he could even walk straight up to the distribution desk of _The World_ and grab a half-hundred papes and start selling - it was like second nature to him. But he did none of those. He just sat there on some steps, watching people go by.

Jojo wasn’t sure how long he sat there when the shouting first started.

It began like Jojo’s mind had made it up. He was so used to shouting voices that his mind tricked him into thinking kids were actually there, but Jojo ignored it. But then the noises became louder and louder, and became more and more real, to the point where Jojo simply couldn’t ride it off as an illusion anymore - especially not when kids were racing down the street in front of him.

Jojo shot up, running to meet one of the kids - one of the younger ones, by the look of it - and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Hey, get offa me, get offa me!” the little boy shouted, trying to shake Jojo off.

“Stop it, stop - look at me, kid!” Jojo said, crouching down to get a better look at him - it was one of the Manhattan littles, a scrawny curly-haired, red-headed boy named Buck.

Buck looked into Jojo’s eyes, startled, then confused. “Jojo, is that you?”

_Oops._

On the outside, Jojo smiled as if nothing was the matter. “Hey, Buckaroo, what’s going on?”

Buck might not have heard Jojo - he was still trying to process the person before him. “Why you in fancy clothes, Jo?”

“Buck look at me.” The boy focussed on Jojo’s eyes, brown and intense. “Why are you runnin’, and runnin’ this far uptown?”

Buck gulped some air, finally trying to steady his breathing.

_He must have run all the way from the distribution gates. He should be selling by now._

“Well, ‘course you know about the pape price gettin’ higher, you were there an’ all.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Jojo said, nodding. Anything to keep the newsie talking.

“So we’re on strike an’ Jack an’ Davey an’ Crutchie an’ everyone teamed up together an’ so we’s not sellin’ anymore. We told Weasel an’ Oscar an’ Morris this mornin’ and they weren’t too keen about it, so they called the bulls and they started hittin’ all of us, so Peanuts took a bunch of us an’ ran.” Buck paused to steady his breath again. “So that’s why I’se here, cause we didn’t stop runnin’ ‘til now. An’ the thing is, I saw you there, so I’se a bit, uh, ‘fused as to why you’s lookin’ like you are now.”

“Darce!”

Jojo turned toward the voice and saw Bill running toward him, slightly disheveled, but still quite put-together-looking in his blue suit.

“Who’s that?” Buck asked, pointing at Bill, “An’ why does he look like Mush? An’ why’d he call you ‘Darce’? What’s a Darce?”

Jojo crouched down, brown eyes meeting green. “I need you to catch up with the others, Buck. I’m trusting you to not speak about this right now, okay? Pinky promise.”

Buck locked his pinky with Jojo’s, although still wearing a expression of confusion, but ran off toward the stragglers of the littles further down the street.

“Who was that?” Bill said as he finally approached Jojo, as winded, if not more so, as Buck had been.

“Just some kid.”

“Um, okay. I was just rushing over to see if you heard about what happened this morning.”

“The newsies went on strike and the bulls attacked so now their scattering and fearing for their lives?”

“That is certainly one way to put it.”

Jojo looked back at Reid Mansion, a monstrosity looming over them. “Listen, Bill, can we talk somewhere else?”

“Oh, sure, sure. We can go back to my house.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

*****

Jojo didn’t know what Jean was talking about. Whatever “phonetically” meant, Bill’s street’s name was not it.

That being said, Jojo was getting tired of how fancy every home he stepped into was. He had enough of chandeliers and unseen rooms and winding staircases. Yet here he was, in Hearst Mansion (because it was indeed one), sitting in a furnished armchair next to Bill in a room that was not occupied by siblings or houseworkers, and hating it. Not because he was next to Bill - he was an alright guy - but the situation Jojo was put in. The two had talked about the events of the morning (Jojo carefully sidestepping all the questions that Bill asked about Buck), but had gotten nowhere further than that. Jojo had an excuse for not being so bright, but Bill didn’t, and neither would have Darcy - this planning business was going worse than they had thought.

It was late afternoon when they heard a knock on the door of their room.

Bill rose and opened it, revealing one other than the Prim to Darcy Reid’s Proper.

“Katherine,” Bill stated, almost relieved. Maybe she was the brains the two of them had been missing. By the way Bill had said it, that must have been the case.

“Afternoon, Bill,” Katherine said before stepping into the room and making straight for Jojo.

Jojo, who was still in the armchair, became quickly aware of how fast Katherine was approaching. Soon she was looming over him like Reid Mansion had done before, jabbing a finger into his chest.

_Oh no._

“You’re not Darcy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me be the first to say: yikes
> 
> what's crackin my chickin minis
> 
> shoutout to buck, the sweetheart of my own design who isn't afraid to state the obvious and call you out


	14. Chapter 14

Jojo had to remember to breathe.

His struggle to do so, however, was understandable. There Katherine stood, the daughter of the man he worked for, a wild determination in her eyes, her body standing menacingly over him where he sat.

“Kath-Katherine, hold on a second,” Bill said, striding over to where they were, placing a hand on Katherine’s arm. “What do you mean he’s not Darcy?”

Katherine stepped a few paces back, eyes not leaving Jojo’s. “I just - I _know_ it’s not Darcy. I’ve known Darcy for years, Bill,” she finally tore her eyes away Jojo in favor of Bill, “as have you. Tell me you wouldn’t know Darcy, even if you were blind.”

“But - who do you suppose _he_ is, then?” Bill asked, pointed to where Jojo still sat, although he had slid down to avoid attention, and was still trying to remind his body to breathe.

“I don’t quite know. What I _do_ know is -” Katherine shoved a newspaper in Bill’s face, pointing at a particular spot on the front page. “ _that_ is Darcy.”

_What? Darcy’s on the front page?_

Jojo oh-so-desperately wanted to see what was on the page, but couldn’t bring himself to rise.

“What is this?” Bill asked.

“It’s the story I wrote about the Newsie Strike.”

“And it made the front page?”

“Of tomorrow’s news, yes. But back to the present matter: if this is Darcy - which he is, Bill, he is - then who is he?”

Jojo couldn’t have been more like a statue. Two pairs of eyes turned on him, two bodies inched ever closer, reminding him of scabs and alleyways and kicks and bruises and -

Jojo’s body remembered how to breathe, though now it was on overdrive.

Katherine examined him with speculative eyes. Bill kept comparing Jojo to whatever picture was on the pape.

“You’d have to be a newsie,” continued Katherine, “because that’s who Darcy is pretending to be. The question is: why?”

“I dunno, Kath,” Bill said. “While I will admit that the two look similar, how do you know? What’s your evidence?”

“Well, for starters, his glasses are gone.”

_Curse Darcy and his bad eyesight._

“He said he lost them.”

“Whether he lost them or not, Darcy talked to me yesterday at the distribution gates, before the fighting that commenced” Katherine said, matter-of-factly, facing Bill. “He looked me dead in the eyes and told me to get out before I could get hurt.”

Jojo closed his eyes. _C’mon, Darcy, you had_ one _job._

“Well… anyone could say that,” answered Bill.

“Why are you so adamant to not see what’s happening? - here,” Katherine said, eyes back to Jojo, “how old are you, _Darcy_?”

“Sixteen,” Jojo answered, straightening in his chair and trying not to draw attention to his white-knuckled hands clutching the chair arms.

“Okay… what’s your middle name?”

_What had Jean said when she opened the door that first evening?_

“Alexander,” Jojo said, trying to format the answer to not sound like a question.

“And what’s _my_ middle name?”

_Shit._

Jojo’s mind became frantic, his eyes darting from Katherine to Bill, his breathing picking up again. He tried to formulate an answer, but Jojo hadn’t the faintest idea what Katherine’s middle name was, so only fragments escaped his mouth.

“I… I’m _sorry_.”

Katherine sighed, hands on her hips, face a mix of satisfaction and confusion, Bill’s face one of disbelief.

“Who… who _are_ you?” Bill said, voice almost at a whisper.

“My name’s Jojo.”

“Jojo?”

“What, were you expecting something better?” Jojo snapped.

“No, I just -,” Bill caught himself. “Nevermind, sorry.”

“Not that names aren’t important, boys,” Katherine said, “but I think the more important question is ‘why’.”

“I don’t think you’d understand,” Jojo said.

Katherine and Bill shared a look, then each grabbed a chair and sat in front of Jojo.

“Darcy understood,” said Katherine, “so it won’t hurt to try to explain.”

*****

Jojo tried relaying the events of the past half-day and day and other half-day as best he could, complete with his own feelings and opinions. Katherine interjected every once in a while for clarification; Bill just listened, although it could be attributed to shock or awe - that is, until Bill’s mind finally caught up.

“So _that’s_ why you called me Mush!” Bill declared, bouncing a little in his chair. “And I _knew_ something was off, too, I just couldn’t place it. Maybe it was the hesitance of your sentences, or your stride when you walked, or -”

“As you can tell,” Katherine said, “Bill isn’t made to be a reporter.”

“Printing the papes, I can do,” Bill responded.

“I know what Darcy and I did comes across as selfish,” Jojo said, reeling them back in, “but I think that’s because it kinda is, and I’m sorry. Honest.”

“While I am a little put-off,” Katherine said, “matters are becoming clearer. And I firmly believe anyone in your shoes or your lifestyle wouldn’t hesitate to do what you did. Or anyone in Darcy’s lifestyle, for that matter. Now,” she said, patting Jojo’s knee and then rising to a stance, “when were you supposed to switch back - you _were_ planning on switching back, right?”

“We decided on switchin’ back tomorrow - though I think it’ll be more complicated now with the strike and all.”

“I agree.”

“Why don’t you talk to Darcy tomorrow?” Bill suggested, also rising. Jojo did so too, feeling awkward being the only one sitting again. “Were you planning on showing the newsies their picture?”

Jojo took that opportunity to take the newspaper and examine said picture. There they all were, smiling as bright as the sun, a kid-army, ready to fight to the end. And Jojo was here, stuck behind marble walls and strangers. Needless to say, Jojo was feeling an odd set of emotions.

“I’ll go to Jacobi’s first thing next morning!” Katherine said. “Good thinking, Bill. I’ll try to snag Darcy there, ask him a couple of questions, then meet you guys afterward here. Deal?”

Bill nodded. “Deal. Jojo?”

Jojo nodded. “Deal.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” Katherine made her way to the door, opening it. “Oh!” she exclaimed, turning to face the boys again. “I almost forgot - it only occurred to me just now - I thought you should know, Jojo -”

“What is it?”

“Well as I was typing at my desk today I overheard some others talking about the aftermath of this morning. Um, about how some kids got arrested?”

Dread pooled in Jojo’s chest. “Do you know who they were? Who the kids were?”

“No, I only know one for sure, because they said one of them had a bad leg and a crutch. That couldn’t be Crutchie, could it? Why would he get arrested?”

_If they took Crutchie I hope he got some good swings in. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, that’s for sure._

“If it _is_ Crutch, I bet five-to-one at least two bulls walked away with black eyes.”

_Please let all the kids be okay._

“I better be going,” Katherine said. “See you later, Jojo. Bye, Bill.” Katherine waved and exited out the door.

Jojo stood still as a statue, trying to make order his emotions and his thoughts, because he damn well wasn’t going to have an explosion of anger or despair or whatever else might come out without him knowing.

“Those newsies mean a lot to you, don’t they?” Bill said.

“More than anything,” Jojo answered. “They’re my brothers. And I left them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basic analysis: they all need to take a long nap
> 
>  
> 
> country boy, i love not knowing how to follow basic characteristics assigned to three-dimensional characters
> 
> also this is gonna make me a hypocrite bc im posting this on this story, but i've said it once and i'll say it again: yall are sleeping on the mush-bill and albert-bill twin aus


	15. Chapter 15

Darcy could not, for the life of him, understand what this kid was saying.

That morning he had woken in Jojo’s bunk with no memory of how he got there. Or at least he _thought_ it was the morning - it was too dark outside to tell. Darcy turned to his left to find a pair of blue eyes staring into his brown ones, causing him to jump. It wasn’t until the owner of the blue eyes held a lantern up that Darcy noticed a patch of yellow and green around the left one, like an old bruise.

“Calm down, Jo,” said the owner of the eyes. “All of us are meetin’ at the deli - 'cept the littles, that is. They need to sleep. But you need to get up.”

It was difficult to get dressed that morning, what with the only light from candles strewn randomly about the room. The boys still in the room were moving slowly, as if the slightest movements caused them pain - which was probably the case. Darcy himself couldn’t breathe without pain blossoming all throughout his torso. Race, who Darcy figured out was the owner of the blue eyes, weaved in and out of the bunks, waking those who were still slumbering.

As the crowd of kids made their way to the deli, the first rays of light just barely peeking through the trees and around the buildings, Darcy spotted his reflection in the glass window of a jewelry store. He stepped closer to get a better look, not entirely believing his face to be so bruised like everyone else’s.

“Quit pokin’ at your face,” Albert had warned. “It only hurts more.”

But Darcy couldn’t tear his face away from, well, his face. He’d never gotten in a fight before, much less punched and kicked and woken to so much pain in every part of his body. He had trouble fathoming what his reflection was showing him. Darcy didn’t look away until Albert literally dragged him away.

“I didn’t pin you as a narcissist, Jo,” Albert said, smiling, though it looked like the effort pained him.

“I’m not, I’m just…” Darcy didn’t know how to answer. He followed Albert to the deli in silence.

Most of the boys were already inside, lounging on tabletops and chairs, tending to their wounds or trying to forget them - including Davey and Les. Darcy flopped down into an empty chair, exhausted. He could barely hear Jacobi’s comments as the man passed out glasses of water to them all.

“Why do old people talk?” Finch had said once Jacobi had left, his voice piercing through Darcy’s daze.

Race answered. “To prove they’s still alive.”

Darcy would’ve gone back to sleep in the rickety chair he sat in, but then Katherine had walked in all chipper, showing off a newspaper. Noticing their glum demeanor, she remarked, “Can these really be the same boys who made front page of the -” she held up the paper, “- _New York Sun_?”

Hearing those words, the boys seemed rejuvenated, hopping up on their feet, grasping for the paper.

_Front page?_

Every pain or bad though seemed to melt away because, yes, even Darcy was eager to see his face beaming front and center. Just because his world was surrounded by papes didn’t mean he wasn’t proud to be in it.

“Would ya lookit, that’s me!” Race exclaimed, holding the pape for all to see.

“Yeah,” said Darcy, though he wasn’t positive anyone heard him (though in honesty he didn’t care). “And you ain’t even dead!”

“Where’s me?” shouted Romeo, grabbing the pape. “Where’s me?”

“Wait till my old man gets a load of this!” Buttons said, grabbing the pape from Romeo. “I won’t be last in line for the tub tonight!”

“Ah, you’ll still smell,” Romeo said.

“You got us in the paper?” Davey asked Katherine across the mob of boys.

“You got _yourselves_ in the pape,” Katherine answered, smiling.

“'Newsies Stop the World',” Mush announced from atop a table. “Ha! Now there’s a headline even _Elmer _could sell!”__

The boys laughed in good fun, as Darcy had found was common with their teasing. They all moved to sit back down, Darcy subconsciously choosing the table nearest Katherine, though he was to her back.

“So, uh, anythin’ else ya got?” Specs asked.

“Oh, no, sorry,” Katherine said, immediately apologetic, “mine’s the only story that ran. Pulitzer declared a blackout on strike news, so even I’m shut down now.”

_Big surprise._

“And I heard they arrested Crutchie - did they get Jack too?”

“Uh, well the Delanceys are spreading a story,” Albert cut in, “that he took it on the lam first sight of the cops.”

“Jack don’t run from no fight!” Little Les interjected, pushing Albert.

“Take it down shortstop,” Albert answered, playfully pushing back. “I’m just reporting the news.”

“For jumpin’ Jack’s sake, can you stow the seriousity long enough to just drink in the moment?” Race said, commanding the attention of the room. “I’m famous!”

“Yeah, what of it?” Henry asked, replacing Mush on the top of a table.

“Well, are you stupid or what?” Race answered. “When you’re famous, the woild is yer erster.”

And we return to the beginning. Darcy could not, for the life of him, understand what this kid was saying.

“Yer _erster_ ,” Race said, as if repeating the word made it more comprehensible.

“What are you saying?” someone called.

__“You know, you’re fancy clam with the poil inside.”__

____

“That an _oyster_ Race!” the newsies responded, though not all at once.

____

“That’s what I said!”

____

“No, it wasn't!” was the cumulative response.

____

“Okay, okay,” Henry said, piping the others down. “But how much does bein’ famous _pay_?”

____

“No no no, you don’t need money when you’re famous,” Race said. “They gives you whatever you want, _gratis_.”

____

“Like what?”

____

“Like new shoes with _laces that match_ ,” Romeo said.

____

“Like my own box at Sheepshead,” said Race.

____

“I get it!” said Henry. “Like pastrami on rye with a sour pickle.”

____

“Or,” said Finch, joining Henry on the tabletop, “my personal puss on a wooden nickel!”

____

“It’s like being King of New York!” Race exclaimed, feet jittery with excitement. “As if, suddenly, I’m respectable, staring right at ‘cha, both lousy _and_ with stature.”

____

“Imagine nobbin’ with all the muckety-mucks,” Albert said. “I’d be blowin’ my dough and goin’ deluxe!”

____

“I’d be so pretty,” Race said, smiling from ear to ear. “It’s my city, and I’m the king of it!”

____

“What about you, Jo?” Henry asked.

____

All eyes were on Darcy.

____

_Think think think think think!_

____

“Um, a watch of solid gold with a chain to twirl it around?”

____

_What? Stupid, stupid Darcy!_

____

“Well that’s… definitely up there,” Race commented, but nudged him in the side. “But it’s all fair game, aye?”

____

“Yeah, for sure,” Darcy said, breathing out a sigh of relief.

____

“What about you, shortstop?” Albert called to Les.

____

“My very own bed and an indoor terlet!”

____

_Darcy! This kid doesn’t have indoor plumbing an you say you want a gold watch?_

____

“I want a barbershop haircut that costs a quarter!” declared Mush.

____

“Hey,” said Davey. “How ‘bout a regular beat for Katherine, the star reporter?”

____

“Am-scray, punk!” shouted Race to Davey, with boiling excitement. “ _She’s_ the real King of New York!”

____

“You hear that David?” Katherine called. “I’m the King of New York!”

____

“You deserve it, Katherine!” Buttons said. “You fished us out of that drink we were in.”

____

“So let’s get drunk!” Katherine exclaimed. “With fame, gentlemen,” she answered to the responding shouts, “with _fame_.”

____

“We’ll be famous in no time,” Tommy Boy said. “They may wrap fishes in this pape tomorrow, but this minute we’re all stars!”

____

Race’s feet started jittering again, until Darcy noticed that the movements weren’t random, but that Race was actually _dancing_.

____

“What are you _doing_?" Davey asked.

____

"What does it look like, Davey?" Race said. "You're supposed to be the smart one."

____

“Where’d you learn to do that, Racetrack?” Les asked.

____

“Tapper over in Brooklyn taught me,” he answered. “I don’t go over there just to sell papes and play cards. Want me to teach ya?”

____

Soon Les was sloppily copying Race, and then others joined in, and others, until the entire room, including Davey, Darcy, and Katherine, were on their feet making a racket but enjoying every bit of it.

____

Some got creative and added props to their tapping. Buttons got hold of a broom while Albert and Tommy Boy got old broom handles. Half of the room was dancing on and around the chairs and tables.

____

“Jojo, look!” Romeo said, pointing at Elmer and Race who had gotten a hold of spoons.

____

“Spoon fight!” yelled Darcy and Romeo, as well as Mush and Les (who must’ve caught on), in an unspoken unison.

____

“Jo, Al, Ro, Henry! You’re on my team!” called Race to the four, tossing them spoons.

____

“No fair!” shouted Elmer. “Twins, Specs, Les, Finch! My team!”

____

“Katherine!”

____

“Davey!”

____

Slowly the room was divided, spoons out like swords, deaths most dramatic occurring - Darcy himself “died” at the hands of Finch and was now lying underneath a table, a grin plastered to his face.

____

“I got him! I win!” Elmer said, jumping up and down. “Take that, Racer!”

____

The room erupted in laughter as Race sunk to his knees, then falling face first, his expression that of a defeated man.

____

“Don’t feel to down, Race,” Elmer assured him. “Think of the Delanceys’ faces when they see the front page!”

____

“You’re right!” Race said, on his feet in two seconds flat, causing the room to burst into laughter once again. “Ain’t we some highfalutin’ son of a guns!”

____

“Snapped one picture,” said Katherine, “and now we’re Kings of New York!”

____

When Jacobi finally came, the boys were barely fazed. They ran out into the streets whooping and hollering, not caring who heard or saw. Because, honestly, who cared?

____

They were the Kings of New York.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i kept some of the rhyming in. but it just felt right, ya know?
> 
> yall ive had that first sentence in my head from the very beginning
> 
> tbh if i could put more of the dancing in i would but i feel like its already choppy as is sooooooo yeah
> 
> i like to think that race left bp a note explaining where they were that morning  
> .  
> .  
> unrelated but my college orientation is in two days whoop whoop!


	16. Chapter 16

Darcy followed the mob of newsies outside, but didn’t make it two yards outside the door before he heard a “Jojo!” and stopped to see who had called. It was none other than Katherine Plumber, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world.

“Can I get an interview for the paper?” she called.

 _What is she playing at?_ Darcy thought, though he still strode toward her, weaving between the few boys still exiting the deli. _Or maybe she isn’t playing at all - maybe she doesn’t know - maybe she-_

“Alright, I know it’s you, Darcy Reid.”

_Okay, so she does know._

“Don’t shout it to the whole world, Kathy,” Darcy said, sweeping his head side to side to see if anyone had overheard.

“It’s okay, Darce, I don’t plan on telling anyone,” Katherine said. “I mean, I would tell Bill, but he already knows - we talked with Jojo last night, that’s how I know about this whole...debacle.”

“And...you’re okay about it?”

“I will say I’m a little annoyed, but there’s not much we can do about it now, don’t you think?”

Before Darcy could answer, a blue-and-white-checkered Davey Jacobs popped into the scene, breathing hard as if he had been running. “Hey, Jojo. I talked to some of the other boys and we decided to multitask sellin’ papes today and searchin’ for Jack and some of the others that are missing. Square?”

“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that.”

“Great. Katherine, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course,” Katherine answered.

“Good. Let’s walk.”

The two walked down the pavement, and Darcy watched them before following at a distance - not close enough that it was obvious, but not far enough that he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“So Specs ran into Medda on his way here,” Davey said. “He wouldn’t specify any more than that, but I think Medda’s theater would be a good place to start looking for him.”

“Why send out everybody to look then?” Katherine asked.

“Because maybe Jack doesn’t want to be found,” responded Davey. “Why would he go somewhere we would think to find him if he just wants to be alone, ya know?”

“So then what? If we find him, what do we say?”

“Okay, so hear me out,” Davey started. Darcy neared the two ever-so-slightly. “I was thinkin’ that we - the newsies - hold a rally in Medda’s theater today. And not just Manhattan newsies.” Davey spread his arms out. “All the newsies of New York’s boroughs. Race is even over in Brooklyn now tryin’ to get Spot and them to join, how about that?”

“I think it’s awfully brave of you,” Katherine said, though she sounded thoroughly blown away. “If you can pull this off it will certainly make a big impact.”

“That’s amazing. I’m gonna get some papes, and then we can start looking.”

“We?” Katherine stopped abruptly.

“Yeah, I was hoping you would accompany me an Les to search for Jack.”

“Um…” Katherine tapped a finger against her chin, organizing all her thoughts into a scheduled timeline. “Oh! How about I meet you and Les at the theater. I have an errand to run, but I promise I’ll be there.”

“Okay, see you there,” Davey said before heading off to the distribution gates.

“Darcy,” Katherine said without turning around. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yes.”

She faced him. “I’m going to go tell Bill and Jojo. They - at the very least Jojo - deserve to hear about the rally. Will you be alright?”

Darcy shrugged. “I’ve been fine these past couple days. One more day shouldn’t be too bad. If I remember correctly I’ll be in Woodside with Blink, Mush, and Buttons, so if you need me...you’ll know where I am.”

“Stay safe.”

“Always.”

“Your black eye tells a different story, Darce.”

*****

Jojo and Bill sat across from each other at the longest table Jojo had ever seen. He had sent word to Reid Mansion that he was staying over at Bill’s for the night; thus, the two could be found eating breakfast at Hearst Mansion - Bill consuming a whole meal, Jojo consuming jam on toast, both too full of nerves from the previous night to try to engage in conversation.

A knock on the door sent them both sprinting to the entryway. Bill opened the door - there stood Katherine, who walked in before either boy could open their mouths.

Katherine, on the other hand, couldn’t keep hers shut. “I can only be here for a few minutes before I have to leave again, but I thought you both should know that Davey - you know Davey, right, Jojo? - he came up with a plan to host a rally at Medda’s - you know Medda, right, Jojo? - at Medda’s theater later today and even though we can’t do a much about the events that will transpire there, much less report on it since my own father shut all Newsie Strike news down, I thought you boys should be at least in the know and aware since we’re all roped into this now.”

Jojo stood there, as did Bill, absorbing all that had flowed from Katherine’s mouth.

“Who’s gonna be there?” Jojo asked, finally managing to remember how his own mouth worked.

“Davey said all the boroughs of New York.”

“What about Brooklyn?”

“Race is there talking to Spot as we speak.”

“Then I’m going.”

“What?” Bill exclaimed, finding his voice.

“No you absolutely are _not_ ,” Katherine said.

“I’m not missing this,” Jojo said, firm and unmoving. “I’ve missed every other part of the strike so far. I’m not missing another one.”

“But you can’t just waltz right in there,” Bill explained. “Not when you look like Darcy.”

“So I won’t look like Darcy,” Jojo said.

“But Darcy doesn’t have any non-Darcy looking clothes.”

“Not yet,” Jojo said, opening the front door and walking out. “But he will. Coming?”

Bill and Katherine followed him out, Bill shouting a good-bye into the nethers of Hearst Mansion before shutting the door.

“I have to go meet Davey at Medda’s,” Katherine said. “But if I can, I’ll be at the rally, so I’ll see you there, Jojo?”

“If I plan this right, I hope not, but sure, let’s just say that.”

“Okay, see you boys later.”

The boys waved Katherine off before Jojo started in the direction of what he was somewhat-sure was Reid Mansion.

“By the way, Bill,” Jojo began.

“Yes?”

“Do you know if Darcy owns any red shirts?”

“He may have one or two. Is that where we’re headed now?”

“You guessed it.”

“Then it’s the other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not my favorite bit that ive done, but necessary in the grand scheme of things, i think
> 
> @pyrotechnick i did it
> 
> also idk how many more chapter there will be until the end, but ive got most of the chapters sorted out (in my head) and i have my own laptop now so HOPEFULLY i wont be lazy and ill ACTUALLY upload more often, but i do rotate between my fics so it be what it be


	17. Chapter 17

“Say, Jo,” said Buttons, “where’ve you been all day?”

It was dim, the evening sun barely shining through the clouds, but newsies from all around filled the streets. Their destination: Medda Larkin’s theater.

“I was out all day sellin’,” Darcy responded. “Same as you.”

“Uh, no you weren’t.”

“Uh, yeah I was.”

“Then how come you weren’t on the boat with us?”

_Because I wasn’t selling. I was hiding._

“Um… didn’t feel like it.”

Buttons put a hand on Darcy’s chest, stopping him. “Were you gettin’ all lost again?”

“Lost?”

“Y’know,” Buttons waggled his fingers at Darcy’s face, “Lost. Like Mush catches you doin’.”

Darcy brushed Buttons’ hand away. “I’m fine, Buttons.”

“Honest?”

“Honest.”

*****

Inside the theater Darcy was overwhelmed to say the least. Both the floor and upper levels were packed full to the brim, some barely fitting through the doorway. And the _chatter_ \- Darcy could barely hear himself think, much less understand what Buttons was mouthing at him.

“What?” Darcy shouted in vain. Buttons didn’t respond, only pulled at Darcy’s sleeve, dragging him over to a different area filled with kids Darcy had never seen before. “What are we doing here?” Darcy shouted again.

Buttons pulled Darcy close, yelling in his ear, “Jack thought it would be best for Manhattan to divide up to where we sell - solidarity an’ all that.”

Darcy nodded as Buttons pulled away, but kept close for fear of getting lost in the crowd. Somehow he and Buttons had pushed their way to the second row of who he could only assume were the Woodside newsies, but even still, Darcy could barely see the stage a few feet away. He didn’t even notice Davey until he was right in front of him.

“Hey Jojo, Buttons,” Davey said. He seemed to be writing something on a piece of paper. “You seen Mush and Blink yet?”

“We’re right here, ya moron,” one of the kids in front of Buttons and Jojo said.

“Oh, hi guys. Sorry, I’m just a bit flustered.”

“Watcha doin’?” Buttons prodded.

“‘M checkin’ off all who’s here here. Y’know, borough-wise - you guys are Woodside, right?”

“Yeah,” they said.

Davey made a check on his paper. “Thanks. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. I’m tryin’ to see who’s here, but it’s kinda hard ‘cause everyone’s all packed in here together.”

“Ugh, c’mon Davey,” Blink said. “You’re makin’ it too hard on yourself. Hold on….”

Blink walked past Davey onto center stage, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed: “SOUND OFF!”

“Lower Manhattan!”

Davey looked at his list, made a check.

“East Side!” Check.

“Coney!” Check.

One by one each neighborhood proudly proclaimed their presence, Davey checking them off his list.

"Richmond!" Check.

“Da Bronx!” Darcy couldn’t help but smile as he spotted little Hops on the back of a taller girl’s shoulders.

The room quieted as the Bronx newsies finished, all growing increasingly aware of who they were missing. Whispers of “Are they coming?” bounced off the walls. They were missing their key. They were missing -

*****

“Brooklyn!” Jojo shouted along with the numerous newsies that made up the infamous borough. Deep in the middle of the hoard, Jojo hoped - _prayed_ that no one would notice him there, no one would notice that he was out of place. Considering what he and Bill had to work with, Jojo thought he came across Brooklyn-enough. As long as he had a sleeveless red shirt, no one should care.

As Brooklyn sauntered onto the stage they were met with cheers so loud Jojo thought his ears would pop. Even those on the stage moved to the side to let them through.

“Hey, Davey!” Jojo heard Spot Conlon say. “We is here!” _Wait that’s Spot Conlon - that’s Spot Conlon!_ Jojo wished he could see what was going on. He considered himself on the taller side, but where he was standing not even _he_ could see above the crowd.

“Welcome Newsies of New York City!” a woman’s voice broke through. _That must be Medda._ “Welcome to my theater - and your revolution!”

“And let’s hear it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!” Davey chimed in - almost drowned in the clamor that instantly followed.

Three hard taps of _something_ on wood diminished the noise. Spot Conlon again: “Let’s see what Pulitzer’s gotta say to us now!”

“Hey Davey, where’s Jack?” shouted a voice - Finch. Was he standing with Manhattan? Flushing? Bottle Alley? Jojo couldn’t keep track of the kid these days. Could Finch see the stage or was he hidden behind others as Jojo was now?

Indistinct mumbles followed. Where was Manhattan’s leader?

*****

“N-Newsies of New York!” Davey called out, visually distraught. Darcy could see Davey’s arms shaking, his eyes darting back and forth, could almost hear his inner monologue of _What do I do, what do I do?_ “Look at - look at what we’ve done!” he continued. “We’ve got newsies from every pape and neighborhood in here tonight - and I should know!” He held up his checklist, earning a few laughs. “Tonight, you’re makin’ history. Tonight, we declare that we are just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter or editor. We are _done_ bein’ treated like kids. From now on, they will treat us as equals!”

Whoops and hollers and claps scattered through the theater. Maybe this could work...maybe this could work.

“You wanna be treated like an adult?” A body from behind Darcy started pushing forward through the Woodside newsies - Jack! “Then start acting like one. Don’t just run your mouth, you’s smart enough to make some sense.”

“And here’s Jack!” Davey declared - perhaps too loud, perhaps too obviously relieved that someone had come to take the attention off of him.

“Pipe down, listen here,” Jack said before anybody could react. “Pulitzer… he raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us and that was a lousy thing to do. So we got mad, yeah? And we showed ‘em we ain’t gonna be pushed around. So we go on strike. And _then_ what happens? Pulitzer lowers the price of papes so’s we’ll go back to work - don’t start with that cheerin’, Staten, I hears ya, let me finish. So Pulitzer lowers the price. But then what? A few weeks after that, he hikes up the price again - and don’t think he won’t. And what if he hikes them up again and again after that? We gotta be realistic here: if we don’t work, we don’t get paid, and then we don’t eat. How long can any of you go without makin’ money? Well, Pulitzer can go longer.”

*****

“But I have spoken with Mr. Pulitzer and he said…” Jojo could hear the cogs turning in Jack’s brain, trying to phrase what Jojo hoped Jack wouldn’t be phrasing. “And he said… that if we….”

“Spit it out, Kelly!” a girl from the balcony shouted.

“He’s given me his word… that if we disband the union -”

All hell broke loose.

Jojo felt his face go white. He couldn’t feel himself moving but he must have because _How did I get outside? What just happened?_

“Right as we join Kelly backs out?” a kid next to him said.

“Some strike leader he is,” another added.

Jojo can’t stay here - he can’t stay here. He needs to get back to Bill, he needs to find Katherine, he needs to get a hold of himself and figure out…. What just happened?

**Author's Note:**

> There's not enough background newsie content in the world and that is a darn shame
> 
>  
> 
> feedback is nice :)


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